Come to Morning Through the Shadows
by phantomessangel
Summary: Lyla Baggins. A hobbit, with a Tookish streak, had done what most other hobbits never dared to do: she went on an adventure. And now, the war was over, the company safe and Erebor was beginning to rebuild. But Lyla could feel the stirrings of something on the horizon. Deep down she knew her adventures weren't quite over. Not with that blasted ring in her possession.
1. Scones and Scrolls

**A/N: Well, here it is: A new story, with new adventures for Lyla Baggins. Are you ready for it? If you are new to this story, I suggest reading the first work in this series: A Single Dream is Worth More Than a Thousand Realities. Things would make much more sense. As always, comments are certainly welcome and appreciated! Enjoy! :)**

**"Home is behind, the world ahead,  
and there are many paths to tread  
through shadows to the edge of night,  
until the stars are all alight."-J.R.R. Tolkien**

**Prologue:**

The sparse torchlight cast long shadows down the hall, making her shiver.

She imagined sinister faces, amongst the darkened corners.

Her steps felt heavy, and the weight around her neck seemed to grow, the harsh whispers making her head throb painfully.

She wanted to turn around, to return to her bed, and hide beneath the covers, like she had done as a faunt whenever a storm had gotten too loud, the thunder making her jump in fear.

She wanted to banish the nightmares away, thrust the images from her mind, refuse to accept what was happening.

But she knew that it could not be done.

She could not ignore this any longer. She could not deny the truth. If she did…

Aule if she ignored this evil any longer, how might it hurt those she loved?

No.

Thorin's face appeared in her mind's eye. The frustration he felt managing the mountain, the discord with the other delegates concerning HER presence at his side, the reconstruction, settling dealings with the elves, and Bard's men.

She was no use here. Lyla tended to cause more ire than ease at the moment.

No, she had something else to do.

The weight around her neck seemed to intensify, growing in strength and setting her heart ill at ease.

Lyla shook her head again and silently edged towards Thorin's bedchamber, careful to only open the door wide enough to allow her access.

She didn't want to wake him.

Like the burglar she had claimed to be all those months ago, the hobbit crept towards the bed and reached with hesitant fingers towards the table.

She paused though, and watched the steady rise and fall of Thorin's chest. His back was turned to her, the dark tendrils of hair splayed over his shoulder and cascading down to the pillow. Lyla smiled, a soft, pained smile, imagining the worry lines the dwarf king carried finally eased with sleep's gentle embrace.

The hobbit had the sinking feeling that this would be the last time she might ever see her dwarf and she relished the moment, committing every detail to memory.

Then, with deft movements, Lyla snatched the trinket from the side of the bed and replaced it with one of her own.

Something, she was certain Thorin would appreciate.

And then, as silent as she was able, Lyla Baggins slipped from Thorin's room and made towards the seldom used pathway, hidden in a small alcove down from the king's chambers, and to the treasury and the tunnel that would lead to the fresh air and the night sky.

Thror's ring was clasped firmly in her palm as the ring of power hummed with a dark energy around her neck.

"I'm sorry Thorin" she murmured softly in the darkness, "so very sorry."

**Chapter 1:**

There was a distinct chill in the air as Gandalf reached the small hill that overlooked Minis Tirith. The white walls of the city loomed high, glittering a brilliant white in contrast the grey clouds that hung low in the sky.

He was certain that there would be snow, which bode ill for his return journey.

The trip had been a long one. He cut a path along the edge of Mirkwood, keeping away from the road. He wasn't sure what danger might be lurking there and with tensions running high between orc, elf and dwarf, one lone travelling wizard would not be safe along the familiar pathways. He'd slogged through the mud of the late autumn rains and watched, with annoyance, as the droplets began to turn icy, the bitter winds nearly blowing the wizard's had from his head.

Gandalf's tired bones ached for reprieve, his belly calling for something warm to sooth the chill that had settled over him.

Though he knew that the chill he felt was not simply from the deteriorating weather.

The wizard cast a glance to his left and watched, with growing dread, as black clouds swirled in the distance, bright flashes of lightning and hazy smoke swirled in the air above a dark mountain.

Mount Doom.

He'd reassured Elladan and Elrohir that he'd return to Rivendell as swiftly as possible. He understood Elrond's urgent request, and he suspected he knew the reason.

But first…

Gandalf narrowed his eyes at the borders of Mordor before urging his horse into a hurried gallop.

He had work to do.

Questions to answer.

* * *

A cloud of flour tickled Lyla's nose and she resisted the urge to sneeze.

There was always something calming about baking, even if it did leave one covered in flour.

And since Dwalin was so fond of her scones…

With another 'Thwack' Lyla tackled kneading the dough into the right consistency.

She always baked whenever she was frustrated.

Or nervous.

Or when she couldn't sleep.

Tonight just happened to be a combination of the three.

Dreams had been plaguing her for weeks. Ever since she'd refused the draughts, insisting she was well enough without them.

And she was, truthfully.

But the blurred images that she couldn't quite push out of her mind, no matter how hard she tried, were an after effect of being well enough to not be abed with spiked tea to send her to a blissful, dreamless slumber. Part of her supposed that it was a good thing she couldn't completely ignore these dreams…memories, or whatever they were. But, the other part of her was terrified of what she'd discover, of what she'd remember.

A sharp pain shot through her head, making her wince as a dull echoing laugh whispered in her ears.

'Best not think on that right now' she decided hastily, pushing the threatening memories aside.

Lyla attacked the dough with more vigor, her movements the only noises in the kitchen as the rest of the mountain (barring some patrols) was blanketed with the peaceful hum of sleep.

Not that she was sleeping.

She just couldn't shake the images, the feelings that haunted her.

Each night, Lyla woke up panting, with sweat trickling down her face as the blurred memories of battle plagued her.

A dark figure, one she couldn't ever quite make out, always loomed in the shadows.

After all these weeks, she still couldn't remember more than those sparse recollections.

And the hissing whispers.

The familiarity of the whispers and the hooded, blurred specter, tickled the hobbit's senses and set Lyla's heart hammering, fear spiking through her veins, and Just thinking about it made her arm ache and her head pound more fiercely.

And it didn't help that a good number of the new inhabitants of the mountain were suspicious of her.

After all, they had every right to be, she amended, even if it did set her heart ill at ease. She did steal the arkenstone and Dain Ironfoot had been imprisoned because of her.

She was not a dwarf. She was a hobbit, a hobbit who did not belong under a mountain.

A hobbit from The Shire.

And a hobbit who was in love with the king.

She knew it was all bound to cause problems.

When she'd finally gotten out of bed (much to the protests of most of the company members) and started to travel from her room, whispers followed her. She couldn't quite make out what they were saying (and she suspected the reason for that was because they spoke in their native tongue) but Lyla could feel the eyes upon her, like shadows haunting her steps.

It was all very disconcerting.

Which was why one of her dwarves was always with her, insisting on following her wherever she went.

They used the guise that she wasn't well enough to be on her own—which she conceded was true for the first few days of wobbly steps and a throbbing arm that hung in a sling—but eventually she came to realize that it was more for her protection than anything else.

Even the elven brothers from Rivendell often accompanied her.

Which concerned her greatly. She hardly knew these elves and yet they followed after her, peppering her with questions or telling stories, never leaving her side.

And so she'd argued, questioned, and demanded to know what was going on.

"I'm not some faunt, you know," She'd huffed, acting very much like a faunt would.

But that wasn't the point.

"Not safe enough fer ye to wander about the mountain on yer own," Dwalin grumbled lowly, finally acknowledging what she'd suspected. His presence was firmly rooted at her side, "I'll not risk it."

He was suspicious of Dain's men. With their leader imprisoned and Thorin in peace talks with men and elves, it left many dwarves at odds with the king. ..

Even the dwarvish members of the elected council were struggling with the new leadership role that Thorin had taken over Dain's men.

With a huff, Lyla tossed the dough onto the counter and wiped her hands on her tunic before turning towards the fire and stoking the dim embers back into a cheerful flame, the heat from the crackling wood washing over her in a pleasant way.

War.

Contention.

Bebother it all. She cared for none of it. All she wanted was peace, and quiet.

Which was why she'd snuck down here while the others were abed. She needed to think, needed a chance to breathe without someone following her footsteps, watching her every move.

Returning to her lump of dough, Lyla began to form, smaller lumps, setting each one upon the counter in anticipation for baking.

Leave the fighting to dwarves for the moment. This—Lyla kneaded the dough carefully—this, right here, was far better than all of that rubbish the others were concerned with .

This was her army. And these little masses of dough were her soldiers.

Of course, cooking in a kitchen that was not her own certainly posed a bit of a challenge for the hobbit. Especially considering said kitchen hadn't been used in well over a hundred years.

However, with Erebor beginning to come to life, Thorin had instructed that the kitchen be the first area to receive attention.

After all, there were more than just the members of the company here now. With Bard's men and their families and Dain's abandoned troops still milling about, beginning the process of getting everyone settled, it made logical sense to work on the kitchens first.

Or, at least, that's what Balin had kindly pointed out to Thorin.

It was Bombur and a few of the others who really got the place shining and organized, ridding the floors of dust, polishing the counters and disposing of the rotten remnants of what once was food. And now the place gleamed. The wooden counters were soft, smooth, glittering brightly in the firelight, every contour and grain highlighted by the orange glow of the flames. The pans overhead were hung delicated, ordered in a regimented arrangement, their copper bottoms shining like the rays of the sun to Lyla's eyes.

It was the hearth, though, that drew a soft smile from the hobbit's lips. Large, carefully carved from the glittering green stone, and lined with darker glittering bricks, the firelight danced and encased the entire room in a warm, cheerful glow.

It made the winter more bearable. And, it was the first thing Thorin had shown her when he'd taken her on a tour of the kitchens.

"I thought you'd be here."

Lyla let out a squeak of surprise and more flour dusted her face as she dropped her lump of dough back on the counter.

She sent a small glare towards the doorway.

Speaking of the king of Erebor…

"That's hardly fair you know," She muttered quietly as Thorin stepped closer to the counter, his arms crossed over one another, one brow quirked as he watched her. "Sneaking up on someone isn't a very gracious thing to do. And now I'm covered in even more flour."

"Well, it was hardly sneaking," Thorin snorted with a soft smile, the edges of his eyes crinkling, "You were far too engrossed in your task to notice me walk in. That's hardly my fault. And, if I may, you look rather fetching covered in flour."

Lyla frowned at the king.

"Hardly,"

"Givashel," Thorin murmured his merriment disappearing as his gaze drifted between the contents of the table and the hobbit's face, "Why are you down here?"

Lyla dropped her gaze to the counter and continued to form the small round scones.

"Isn't it obvious?" She remarked carefully, after a moment, "I'm baking."

She heard a soft sigh, but refused to lift her head to catch the frown that usually accompanied that sigh.

"I can see that, my flower," Thorin remarked softly, placatingly, "I meant, why are you not in bed? It is late. You should not be down here alone. You need rest."

Lyla snorted. "It is also early," She remarked, knowing she was being petulant.

'Tookish' she amended wryly.

Thorin let out a soft, annoyed groan as he stepped closer, grasping Lyla's hands in his own, forcing her movements to halt.

The hobbit stiffened slightly, but hazarded a glance at the king under the mountain, noting the way Thorin's brows were knit together as he thoughtfully searched her face.

"Something troubles you," He remarked, running a thumb across her jaw line, smudging the flour from her skin. "Are you having nightmares?"

Lyla's heart started hammering at the close contact and she couldn't ignore the way her stomach twisted into knots when she was near Thorin.

But…

There was still so much unease that she felt. Something stopped her from confessing her worries, her thoughts, her dreams of the battle.

She couldn't stop herself from pulling back, remaining hesitant.

"No," She whispered averting her gaze, "No, I'm fine."

Thorin snorted, and muttered something under his breath, they Lyla's ears couldn't quite pick out.

"Indeed," he remarked lowly, "You're always 'fine', I've come to find, whenever something truly does trouble you. You push others away."

Lyla scrunched up her nose and glowered up at the king under the mountain, even though she knew he was speaking the truth.

"I do not."

"And always eager to argue," Thorin chided softly, bringing his forehead to rest against hers, "Always so stubborn, Givashel. What am I to do with you?"

Lyla couldn't ignore the way her heart sped at their close contact or how pleasing it felt to have Thorin's warm breath ghost against her cheeks.

She knew what he was doing of course.

She wasn't daft. She certainly was not some blockheaded Bracegirdle from Harbottle!

She was a Baggins, thank you very much. And one thing a Baggins prided themselves on was their wit and intelligence.

Lyla frowned at the king.

"I'll have you know, Master Oakenshield, that your manipulations will not work."

Lyla knew that said manipulations were, in fact working, which was a problem.

So, she tried to step away.

A firm grip around her waist stopped her backwards movements, though, and Lyla narrowed her eyes at Thorin who returned her glare with a firm stare of his own, though his lip was curved upwards into a small smirk. "And what are you doing up this late?" the hobbit sent an inquisitive look towards the dwarf, mingled with a glare. "What keeps the king of Erebor wide awake at this hour?"

Slowly he released his hold on her waist and brought his hands to her cheeks and neck, his thumbs rubbing against her skin softly before releasing her.

"That is hardly important," He remarked tiredly and Lyla noted the bags beneath the king's eyes, "I was detained in a meeting with Thranduil, Bard and those two elven brothers from Rivendell."

Ah…

"What was so important that you are kept from rest?" She hazarded to ask, frowning at the way Thorin's face looked.

Ragged.

Exhausted.

And while his dark blue tunic certainly highlighted the pleasing features of his ebony hair and angular face, setting his blue eyes blazing, the exhaustion Lyla found tugging at Thorin's mouth and eyes sent worry through her veins.

"It matters not, Givashel," He murmured with a soft smile, his gaze roving over her face, "However, I'd very much like to hear what keeps you awake," he remarked, changing the subject, "You are not required to remain in such tedious company as I have been."

Lyla snorted at the obvious slight to the elves.

While Thorin certainly had worked to make amends with Thranduil, it didn't change his obvious distaste for elven company.

Lyla supposed he only tolerated Thranduil and Legolas and the others because they had helped to save his peole, his mountain…

Her.

'You'll die.'

A hiss whispered softly in her ear, making Lyla cringe as hazy memories floated to the surface of her thoughts.

"I'm fine," She repeated distractedly, grasping the trinkets that hung about her neck, willing the images to abate. "Just couldn't sleep."

She didn't want to worry him. If the wrinkles around his eyes were any indication, Thorin had more than enough trouble to deal with.

What were her nightmares in comparison to rebuilding a mountain?

Trivial.

"One day," Thorin remarked, his tone strained, eyes hooded, "I will earn your trust back. I promise you that."

Guilt seared Lyla's chest and she felt the urge to pull Thorin back towards her, reassure him that everything was alright. That THEY were alright, that she truly was fine. She wanted him to know that she trusted him, that she understood her importance to him and knew that he'd never bring her to harm.

But…

She couldn't.

Not truthfully.

And Thorin knew it.

It was a long road they had yet to travel. They'd certainly made progress, but they had a while yet to go.

But, Lyla did smile at the king and placed a hand on his shoulder, her fingers lacing through the dark, tumbling tendrils of his hair.

"I promise," She murmured, "Just…give me time?" standing on her toes, Lyla placed a soft kiss on the dwarf king's cheek.

It seemed to lighten Thorin's spirits a little. The soft smile returned which eased her heart.

Then Thorin looked between Lyla and the contents on the table.

"Scones?" He asked, changing the subject to more neutral topics, for which the hobbit was thankful. "For Dwalin I'm assuming."

Lyla nodded her head and grinned.

"Yes."

* * *

Thorin had insisted on staying with her until she'd finished her baking, asking her questions, as he'd come to do since she'd woken up that first time, surrounded by the company and a few elves she did not recognize. They were questions about trivial things, ordinary things. And THAT she found both amusing and a bit curious.

Somehow it didn't fit Thorin.

But, then again, there were so many different layers to the dwarf's personality…

Though, he wanted to know things that a dwarf didn't seem too interested in.

Her favorite flower, for instance.

Why hobbits lived in their little holes in the ground.

What it meant to be a Took. (THAT had been a rather complicated explanation).

Who Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was and WHY it was such a travesty to be related to her.

And Thorin seemed genuinely invested in her answers, if a little confused by them. His gaze never shifted from her as she rattled on about life in the Shire and the time that Lobelia tried to make off with her silver.

"She had all my spoons stuffed in her pocket," Lyla had grumbled, as she took the last batch of scones from the hearth, mindful to grab them with her right hand instead of her left, which was still a bit weak in its grip. "Dreadful woman," She hummed, taking a few of the warm scones and setting them aside for the dwarf in front of her.

"You know once, I had to convince her that—"

She hazarded a glance at the dwarf she'd been talking to, the dwarf who sat in one of the few chairs in the kitchen, his head tilted back, dark waves of hair splaying across his shoulders and around the edges of the chair.

He was fast asleep.

With mouth partially open, the softest of snores escaped his lips and Lyla set down her baking to get a better look at the king.

Gone were the worry lines, the wrinkles around his eyes had eased. Gone too was the tightness around his mouth. Here, in this moment, Thorin Oakenshield looked utterly vulnerable and peaceful.

It was a rare and lovely sight.

Lyla bit her lip, starting unabashedly, hesitating, considering…

But then she leaned forward and carefully placed a soft kiss upon the dwarf's brow and then the ghost of a kiss upon his lips, mindful not to awaken the sleeping king, but savoring in the softness of the moment and the way his lips seared her own with a pleasant warmth.

With a soft smile, the hobbit retreated back towards the large wooden counter and continued arranging her scones, humming softly to herself.

The corridor that lead upwards, towards the main overlook was still silent when Lyla finally emerged from the kitchen, a large plate of scones in hand Thorin's soft snores ringing in the hobbit's ears.

His exhaustion worked to Lyla's advantage, though she felt bad for leaving him alone in the kitchen.

It meant that for the moment, though, she was free to move about as she pleased without disturbing anyone, especially her dwarf.

Aule knew he needed rest.

And, with the early hour, it meant that Lyla was free from prying eyes as she moved past the treasury and towards the large, polished staircase, ignoring the way her heart hammered.

The hissing grew louder in her ears and she could feel the way her arm started to shake as small beads of sweat appeared on her brow.

Familiar images, that she'd rather bury and lock away, assaulted her.

The fevered blue eyes and the snarling insults as she was lifted high, up into the air, her feet dangling over a steep drop.

'Thief…betrayer…'

The world tilted and Lyla stumbled backwards, slamming her eyes shut as her hand reached towards the wall. She gulped in a lungful of air, her grip on the plate of scones tightening.

'Stop Lyla. Stop.'

She could hear the laughter softly echo in her ears.

"Master hobbit?"

Lyla violently jerked, nearly dropping her scones in shock, as an unfamiliar voice hovered in front of her. Her eyes flew open and Lyla tilted her head up to gaze into the curious glance of a young dwarf who stood not three feet from her.

Tall, clad in light armor with long dark hair braided back, away from his face, the dwarf narrowed his eyes, a frown marring his, nearly beardless face, though the expression was not menacing.

"Master Hobbit," he repeated again, his voice low and curious, "Are you alright?"

Having never really talked to anyone outside the company, Lyla was not sure who this dwarf was , or really how to answer him.

'Manners,' her father's voice chided softly in the back of her mind, 'Remember manners.'

Lyla swallowed back the surprised squeak that was stuck in her throat, and forced her lips into a small smile.

"Ah-er-I'm…I'm alright, thank you. Just fine," She murmured the last part softly, warily, the shock of this dwarf's sudden appearance setting her off.

The dwarf, for his part, look genuinely surprised.

"I didn't know you were a woman," He remarked slowly, his voice betraying the unease HE felt.

Lyla's ears buzzed and a familiar heat tickled her neck.

Didn't know she was a…?

"Indeed." She remarked drily her slight annoyance tempering the unease she felt being in the dwarf's presence. "Yes, well, be that as it may, what may I do for you?"

The dwarf suddenly balked at Lyla's question, his blue eye widening in surprise, mouth opening a fraction as he stared at the hobbit who had straightened her back and stood far more determinedly before the tall warrior.

Lyla stared back, her resolve hardening with each passing moment. Thoughts of hissing whispers and uncomfortable memories temporarily abating as more pressing matters demanded her attention.

She was no simpering Sackville-Baggins or a daft Brandybuck.

Lyla quirked a brow at the clearly flustered dwarf before her.

"What might I do for you then…?" She trailed off, unsure of how to address this (obviously) young dwarf before her, "And at this hour too?"

The dwarf shook his head lightly and snapped his mouth shut, giving her a slightly sheepish look, "Forgive me," he replied quietly, "My name is Th-" The dwarf stopped a moment, looking unsure.

Clearing his throat he stood a little straighter fiddling with one of the braids near his shoulder, "I-uh, my name is Rin," he replied, "I'm well acquainted with Thorin Oakenshield and the rest of the company and knowing your close affiliation with them, I-" He hesitated again, "I'm wondering if perhaps you can help me."

Lyla's curiosity was piqued. She'd not spoken to many of the dwarves, and to have one approach her at this hour of the morning asking for help?

How interesting.

How odd.

"Yes, well," She remarked, shifting her stance and adjusting the plate of scones, "I'm not sure how I can help you really."

"Oh but you can, milady," the hobbit blinked at the title the dwarf Rin used, "You can certainly help. You are the only one who can help."

Lyla was surprised to see the a fierce light in Rin's eyes as he smiled pleadingly at her.

Something seemed familiar about that expression. Like she had seen it before.

Though she couldn't place where.

"You are the only one who can appeal to Master Oakenshield to help my father. He'll listen to you."

"Your…father?" Lyla was confused. She scrunched up her face as she watched the dwarf nod his head.

"Have you tried to talk to him concerning the matter?" She remarked, "I don't see how I can really be of any help. I'm sure whatever has befallen your father will receive fair judgment by Tho—Master Oakenshield, if you but talk to him."

"Please," The dwarf took a small step forward, and Lyla took one back, her heart spiking with trepidation at the movement, though the dwarf's face remained pleading instead of predatory, "You are the only one who can do this. They will not listen to me. My own kin, and they will not listen. The rest of the council will not listen either. Their torn between believing him and following Thorin. But it's wrong!" He knit his brows together, "All of its wrong. Something bad has happened. There's a plot, they're looking for something. I just… my father—"

"That's quite enough of that."

The familiar voice sent the young dwarf stumbling backwards the rest of his comment cut off as he scuttled away from the surprised hobbit, retreating at a rapid pace into the darkness, his eyes still pleading with Lyla, even from the growing distance.

Lyla turned with wide eyes, towards the hall where Thorin Oakenshield stood, a deep frown on his face, eyes blazing with fury hands balled at his sides as he slowly approached the hobbit, searching your face.

"You should have woken me," he admonished lowly, stepping closer to Lyla, his tone cold, "You should not wander on your own."

The dwarf king reached forward and plucked the plate of scones from Lyla's grip and stared down his nose at the hobbit.

"Especially at this hour."

Lyla furrowed her brow, "I don't quite understand," She admitted, "I mean I DO understand, sort of, but I wasn't in any danger. The dwarf was very polite. And you've sent him scrambling."

"He doesn't have a right to talk to you," Thorin snapped, glaring at Lyla, who in turn narrowed her eyes.

"And you have a right to talk in this manner? Or choose what I can and cannot do?"

No thank you!

"I am not some fauntling, Thorin Oakenshield and if I say I was perfectly fine then—"

"And I've known you long enough to know you lie on that score, little burglar," Thorin huffed, softening his tone, "You have a propensity to shield others from the truth. And whether or not he was threatening you is not the point. HE was not the speak with you. He disobeyed command."

Disobeyed command?

Lyla frowned.

"Excuse me?"

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed, his shoulders visibly tensing.

"It is far too early to be discussing this," he muttered agitatedly. He shot her a tired look, "We should discuss this later, after we've both gotten some rest."

Lyla's anger was growing however. And Thorin should know…

"I think not," She remarked, heatedly, "You are forbidding others from talking to me? You are purposely isolating me? Why?"

Thorin shook his head, "I've done no such thing," He retorted, with a small sigh, "I've not stopped anyone from approaching you if they wished. But HIM," Thorin nodded his head in the direction that Rin had retreated, "He has been requested, by the council to remain away."

Lyla frowned, "But he's clearly not a threat. He's just a boy by your standards. Probably no more than Kili's age." She peered into Thorin's eyes, searching the hooded expression within the cerulean depths of his gaze, "All he wanted was to ask about his father."

Thorin's eyes tightened and his frown deepened.

"A boy he may be, yes. But his father," the dwarf spat, "Is a traitor. And this will not be discussed. Not now."

"But, it doesn't—"

"No, Givashel," Thorin reached forward and touched her ear softly, running his fingers through the curls that framed her face there, "No, not now. I promise we will discuss it, but not now."

The look on the dwarf's face silenced Lyla's protest. A raw pain swam in Thorin gaze as he stared down on the hobbit.

Something about the young dwarf Rin and his father ruffled Thorin's feathers, shook him to the core.

She cast a glance around, as Thorin led her towards the staircase, wondering what was going on, what had transpired since they'd first come to Erebor.

When her foot touched the first stair, for the briefest of moments, she hesitated, the familiar, terrifying images washing over her again.

And then she caught sight of a face in the shadows, watching her being ushered by Thorin up towards the lookout.

She grabbed at the necklaces about her neck and rubbed her fingers over the design carved into the bead that Thorin had given her, and she wondered…

What in Aule's name was going on?

* * *

Gandalf set his warm mug of ale down as his eyes scanned yet another scroll, searching for the record he needed. If anywhere , he could find the record here amongst the histories of men, safely guarded behind the white walls of Minis Tirith.

He hoped, though, that he was wrong.

That the little hobbit did not have what he feared.

But he HAD to be certain of it.

Gandalf took another large gulp of the warm ale, some of it splashing onto his beard in his haste as he returned to his reading.

Even this far down in the archives, he could hear the soft patter of rain, the voices of the men and women and children as they milled about the streets, but his eyes never strayed from their task of searching.

Accounts of deaths.

The rising of the great armies.

The loss of the line of kings.

Gandalf continued to read, pulling out his pipe, the familiar smells of the Shire-leaf filling his nostrils.

The grey wizard skimmed a rather tattered scroll.

"The year 3434 of the Second Age—"Gandalf straightened, "Here follows Isildur, High King of Gondor, and the finding of the ring of power…"


	2. Deceptions and Fire

**A/N: My goodness! Thank you for all the lovely reviews and the follows and all the support! I'm so happy you are all enjoying this. I hope this chapter will make sense, though. I've been stewing over it and I'm hoping that you enjoy it. As always, I love to hear from you so please share your comments! And thank you again for being so wonderful. **

**"Home is behind, the world ahead,  
and there are many paths to tread  
through shadows to the edge of night,  
until the stars are all alight."-J.R.R. Tolkien**

Chapter 2:

"How are we to do it?" the soft, gravelly voice hummed in the darkness, "How are we to accomplish this task?"

"Distract him," the gruff dwarf remarked, the soft 'ting' of metal echoed in the silent room, "Tear his focus away."

"Isolate him."

* * *

There was a distinct, biting chill that nipped at Thorin's nose and ears, even this far within the mountain. It wasn't wholly unexpected, with winter at its peak and the snow falling unrelentingly throughout the night and renovations still underway to restore the mountain. And, though the draft certainly didn't bother HIM, Thorin's thoughts were focused on Lyla's lithe form. He noted the distinct need for some proper clothing for the hobbit. Her long green tunic (a gift from the elves) mended and tailored though it was (by Lyla's deft needlework no less) still hung rather loosely on the hobbit's frame. She'd rolled the sleeves up and belted the fabric at the waist so that it didn't hang quite so long, but without a proper coat, or shoes for that matter, Thorin wondered how the hobbit could ward off creeping winter winds.

He cursed Lyla's knack for finding trouble, even with something as simple as proper attire. He doubted that they'd find any suitable clothing for her with most of the mountain still in need of exploration and excavation.

A great majority of the apartments and corridors had acquired several feet of rubble thanks to Smaug. And with clothing and other supplies in short demand, it made it hard to locate something suitable for Lyla to wear.

Not that she was complaining of course. When Thorin had mentioned his concerns, the hobbit merely waved the dwarf king off with nary so much as a smirk.

And her wandering about the halls after he'd asked her not to, especially considering she's been approached by that…

Boy.

Thorin still seethed about that moment, when the tyrant's son had plucked up the courage to approach his hobbit. And when she was alone no less! In the dark of the early morning, wandering by herself.

If he had been anyone else…

But he'd not seen hide nor hair of the lad these last few weeks since he'd shooed the cowing pup away from Lyla, his glare brooking no argument from the bumbling youngster.

It made him more suspicious and wary.

But Lyla would not be swayed in her wanderings, much to Thorin's consternation. He'd discovered her, more than once, down in the kitchens alone baking.

'I am not a faunt to be coddled thank you,' she'd replied with a firm look, her lips pulled into a frown, eyes challenging, when he'd broached the subject.

And if Thorin had learned nothing it was that Lyla Baggins was a stubborn, foolhardy little creature.

He certainly had his work cut out for him. He'd resorted to having several members shadowing her footsteps though she was a sneaky little thing.

It didn't help, either, that he had yet to approach the subject as to WHY he preferred her to stay near one of the members of the company, particularly in regards to her encounter with the young dwarf. She'd asked about it a few times but had easily been appeased by Thorin's pleas for more time.

He could see, though, that her patience was wearing thin on that score. He noted her questioning gaze and the way she bit her lip while she studied him.

And as he watched her practice her footwork with Dwalin, who had insisted that the hobbit resume her sword training, Thorin couldn't help but smile at Lyla. If he were to be honest with himself, he would have to admit that he'd not want it any other way. Her wandering nature, her petulant attitude, the way she pursued an answer unrelentingly.

It was maddening.

But delightfully entertaining as well.

As was watching her practice wielding a sword, or well in this case, a wooden staff.

He watched the way Lyla's shoulders naturally dipped as she side-stepped Dwalin's advancements. He admired the way her curls captured the torchlight, making each strand of hair sparkle like the brightest of coins as they twisted around her ears and curled at the base of her neck. When she turned, trying to dodge Fili's attack, Thorin noted the way her lips were parted, her cheeks rosy from moving about, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Even from this distance, however, Thorin could see the exhaustion clouding the hobbit's features. He knew she wasn't sleeping well, if her late night scone baking was any indication. Thorin could see the dark circles beneath her long lashes and he could see the way her eyes drooped.

He saw her yawn and that made him frown.

Mahal she needed rest!

"Laddie."

Thorin quirked his head towards Balin, his brow raised at the white-haired dwarf's grin.

"Laddie," Balin said again, "You were starin' again. You were supposed to be in a meeting a good while ago."

Thorin's eyes widened slightly, "Was I?" he murmured genuinely surprised.

He was?

Staring?

The meeting?

Balin's smile widened slightly, "Aye Lad, Ye were, on both counts. The Council's getting a bit fired up over the matter. "

Thorin groaned inwardly, and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

It seemed as though the meetings never ended. The council was being particularly demanding lately. Not that he didn't understand, with the rebuilding of the mountain.

Thorin supposed that he'd forgotten how complicated life was when they were rebuilding. He'd done it many years ago with his grandfather in the blue mountains, organizing the people, beginning the excavations, housing the people, preparing homes for the displaced families.

But it wasn't just the rebuilding.

Balin hadn't been joking about the council's concern on BOTH scores.

Lyla Baggins was a rather large topic of conversation among the council members, dwarves of high rank within the legion of Dain's army. When they weren't discussing the demands for the rebuilding projects, their focus turned towards the hobbit, her affiliation with the elves (whom were still eyed with suspicion) and whether or not she was a threat.

And it was doing nothing but agitating Thorin's temper. Of course she wasn't a threat! Couldn't—

"Laddie," Balin's soft command brought Thorin back to the present. The dwarf king cast another glance towards Lyla before sighing in resignation.

He gave a quick nod to Dwalin, who had been eyeing the conversation, while keeping an eye on Lyla's progress against Kili. The warrior dwarf gave a nod in return, signaling that he understood what Thorin was silently requesting.

Keep her safe.

Thorin wanted to believe that it would be an easy task for Dwalin. He was rather fond of the hobbit after all.

And yet…

Knowing Lyla's uncanny ability to attract attention, Thorin was certain that something would befall the hobbit.

THAT bit of knowledge did nothing so soothe his ire.

Nor did the overly loud arguing that reached his ears as he got closer to the meeting hall where the council had been waiting for him.

"He's far too distracted!" Thorin could make out the voice of one of the eldest of the members speaking, "I tell you that creature has corrupted our king."

Thorin's eyes narrowed as he and Balin stopped just outside the doorway listening.

"Obviously he needs to be reminded that we are a private people!" Another dwarf crowed, "We are not fond of strangers in our midst."

"I don't see the harm in this hobbit," A third voice chimed in, this one softer and more contemplative than the others, "What has the hobbit done to harm any of us?"

"The arkenstone was stolen and given to the elves!" The first voice, "That-that creature orchestrated the whole thing. We can't trust the hobbit and we certainly cannot trust the elves."

Guilt swept through Thorin's veins at a rapid pace and he caught Balin's knowing frown.

The arkenstone.

Of course.

It was not so much Lyla's presence in the mountain that agitated these dwarven leaders.

It was HIS fault. When he had cast Lyla aside, while in the thralls of gold sickness, he had shown the dwarves that the hobbit was not to be trusted, HE had caused the suspicion to grow, the doubt to swirl. He had thrown the hobbit, cast her aside, accused her of the vilest things.

Had he ever recanted those statements?

Mahal help him.

He had to set this right.

Somehow.

Thorin didn't see the shadow creeping behind him.

"Lad!"

* * *

"Ouch!"

The pain of the connection was instantaneous. Bone and flesh colliding with the hard contours of the wooden staff, made Lyla hiss. Her own staff dropped from her grip and she clutched her wrist close to her body, the throbbing making her ears ring.

"Oh bebother it all!" She muttered eyeing her tender wrist carefully. She was certain no bones had been broken, though a bruise was already beginning to form.

Blasted dwarves and their warrior abilities!

"I'm sorry Mistress Boggins!" Kili remarked in an anxious voice as he reached for her wrist, "Truly I didn't mean to harm you. I thought you'd block the hit in time."

Lyla shied away from Kili's touch and clutched her wrist closer to her person.

She didn't want to show him her wrist. Eru knew that the poor lad felt guilty enough about it already.

And it ached something fierce.

No, indeed, she didn't want anyone to touch her wrist.

"It's nothing," she remarked, her voice betraying the pain she felt (though she hoped Kili wouldn't notice). "I am fine. It was an accident."

"Oh aye indeed yer fine!" Dwalin's voice cut in as he came to stand next to Kili, cuffing the young dwarf behind the ear.

"Ow!" Kili crowed rubbing his tender ear, sending a glare towards the tattooed warrior, "What was that for!"

"That," Dwalin growled, "Was for getting overly excited instead of the helpin' the lass learn her footing. I said easy movement, lad, not going about trying to lob off her hand!"

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Kili retorted, clearly affronted by Dwalin's accusation, "I'd never try to hurt her," he turned towards Lyla, "Mistress Boggins, I'm truly sorry. I thought you saw my staff coming. I didn't mean to—"

"No no it's alright," Lyla cut off the dwarf's pleadings, "And it's Baggins Kili. Baggins." Ignoring the way her wrist stung she sent a small smile at the dark haired dwarf, "It was an accident and I should have been paying more attention. If this had been a real battle I'd probably have lost a hand, eh?"

Her jest only made Kili look even more crestfallen, Dwalin even more infuriated.

Fili, however, chuckled in the background.

"Indeed you would have!" he admonished playfully, "Have to work on asking uncle NOT to spy on you when you're training. He's none too inconspicuous about it all and it does nothing but take your attention away," Fili winked at Lyla, "Much too handsome a dwarf for you, is he?"

Lyla could feel the heat ignite across her face, covering her ears, cheeks and neck.

Oh!

She frowned at Fili and Kili who were both covering their mouths as they sniggered at the growing blush covering Lyla's cheeks.

Those impertinent little…!

"Ow!" Kili cried again as Dwalin gave his ear another swift swat.

Fili backed away before Dwalin could reach for him as well, the smile still firmly spread across his face as he winked at Lyla.

"Come now, it's not as if it's completely unexpected!" He remarked cheekily, "I mean they did kiss when she woke up and I've caught Miss Lyla here staring at our dear uncle when he wasn't looking!"

Lyla's eyes slammed closed as her face burned.

"Fili," She groaned shaking her head, "This is hardly the time for such—"

She jerked backwards and tried to pull away as someone grabbed her tender wrist and pulled it towards them.

Lyla's eyes flew open and she stared at a grinning, albeit apologetic looking Fili.

"Sorry to have to do that," he held firm to her wrist, "But I needed to distract you."

Distract her!

Lyla glowered at Fili, trying to pull her wrist away, hissing as the pain radiated up her arm as the young dwarf prince held firm.

"I am not some child!" She retorted, "I said I was fine."

"Aye yer well and fine and lovely lass," Dwalin cut in placing his large hand on her shoulder gently, "but yer also the most stubborn creature I've ever met. I saw that hit. Just let the lad give it a look over, aye?"

Lyla glowered at Dwalin whose face was torn between a jovial smile and a worried glance as he stared back at her, searching her face carefully.

She wanted to argue, insist she was alright, but the look in Dwalin's eyes brooked no argument. She sighed in defeat and ceased her movements, giving Fili a chance to carefully attend to her smarting wrist.

It was a lost cause, arguing with these dwarves. They never listened anyway.

And they said that she was the stubborn one!

* * *

The blow came swiftly, sending stars dancing before Thorin's eyes.

But it wasn't enough to render the dwarf king unconscious, which seemed to be the intended plan.

Infuriated, the dwarf king spun on his heel, blocking another blow from a rather tall looking dwarf, face cloaked, yet clad in brilliant silver armor. He noted the way the dwarf's muscles rippled as he maneuvered, shifting away from Thorin's oncoming swing.

Thorin drew his sword as the hulking warrior made to strike him again, this time with a battleaxe. Metal clashed against metal.

* * *

Lyla rubbed her newly wrapped wrist gently as she slowly made her way to the library.

Fili had insisted that she visit Oin, who gave her a nice poultice to help with the bruising, demanding that her sprained wrist be wrapped tightly to prevent too much strain.

He also wanted her to wear a sling, but the hobbit drew the line there, adamantly refusing to agree.

"It's just a sprain," she remarked, "I'll be fine."

And she would be, despite Kili's insistence and pleadings, Fili's frown and Dwalin's glower trying to sway her and guilt her into agreeing with their resident healer.

Dwarves!

It wouldn't help her argument against Thorin if she were walking about in a sling. She'd clearly stated that she could take care of herself, that she was safe to explore the mountain, despite the king's misgivings. When he saw the bandaged wrist, Lyla was certain that Thorin would be none too pleased. But, if she had a sling? Aule she'd never be allowed from her room again, let alone even go near a sword. Not that she had a sword anymore to wield…

But, at this rate, she'd never have a moment alone to peruse the halls of the greatest kingdom in Middle Earth, by dwarven standards at least.

Not that she was every REALLY alone, though. If Thorin thought she was daft enough to believe that he didn't have some of the company members following her, then he clearly didn't know her at all.

She was Baggins! And, a Baggins could always be trusted to have their heads on their shoulders and their wits about them.

Well, most of the time anyway. When it came to understanding dwarves (one in particular) Lyla was a bit at a loss. She did and said and acted in ways that most Bagginses would never have dreamed. Which meant she was very, very Tookish or…

In love?

"Maybe both," she muttered, slowly ascending the stairs and turning towards a darker hallway, lit by a few torches.

It was a familiar sight, even if it was a bit somber. As she reached midway to the hall, however, she came to a brightly lit familiar doorway.

And a familiar dwarf sitting at a desk studying several manuscripts, pausing every few moments to take notes in his own rather large tome.

"Good evening Ori," Lyla remarked softly, stepping closer to the sweater-clad dwarf, leaning forward to peek at what the dwarf was writing down.

Foreign runes greeted her and she watch with rapt fascination as Ori carefully brushed his quill across the parchment. His movements were light, yet precise and each marking was clearly defined, not a smudge or smear visible to the hobbit's eye.

"You're very talented master Ori," she remarked, catching the dwarf's bashful smile as he looked between her and his work.

"I do my best," He remarked slowly, thoughtfully, "Not a remarkable warrior so I employed my attention to other things. My brothers," Ori rolled his eyes, "were very pleased to learn of my interest in scribing."

Lyla repressed a giggle, but grinned widely at Ori. Yes, indeed, she knew the protective nature of Ori's brothers. They were rather fond of looking after their youngest sibling with a ferocity that was unrivaled.

Dwarves were possessive in that way.

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit," Lyla remarked, "If I recall, correctly, you are a rather fierce warrior. You were the one who got me out of that cell."

She winked at the blushing dwarf and gave his shoulder a good squeeze.

"I don't think I ever thanked you for that."

"Oh, well, uh, it was nothing really." Ori ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he adjusted the quill in his hand.

"But scribing must truly be a passion of yours," the hobbit continued, "Many talents you have, master dwarf. And I'm glad for it."

The two shared a comfortable silence as they gazed around the library, still covered in dust and bits of ash.

Lyla had been sincere. She was grateful that Ori was so attentive to protecting these records, these stories.

It was small step in rebuilding Erebor, one that many might overlook.

"I found more maps and records in Westron for you, Mistress Baggins," the dwarf remarked softly with a smile at the hobbit, "I placed them on the back shelf."

Lyla nodded her head in appreciation and abandoned the dwarf to his work, noting the way Ori's attention immediately drifted back towards printing each rune carefully in his copy.

The hobbit's own gaze, locked onto the stacks of dusty records waiting for her in the darker corner of the back wall.

However, it wasn't the records that she was eager to delve into, though they WERE certainly interesting and entertaining.

She'd get to those.

No, she preferred the darkened corner of the library for another reason.

With most of her dwarves leaving her in peace within the confines of the library walls, knowing the only other dwarf to be in there would be Ori, the other company members didn't realize that the library was a perfect place for Lyla to escape.

The library was a perfect place for Lyla to explore.

In this special darkened corner, along the furthest wall, hidden within the small gap between the furthermost shelf and the wall itself, there was a small alcove that widened outwards into a small, dark hallway. She'd discovered it purely by accident. Perusing some of the maps that Ori had allocated, she'd noted a strange marking written on the map that detailed the significant rooms of Erebor.

Of course she had to investigate. The opportunity was far to tantalizing to overlook.

And she'd discovered something wonderful. This passage led her towards another hall that turned sharply leading towards an outcropping just above the treasury. From here, high above the main floor, safely tucked out of sight, Lyla admired the way the green stone shone against the torchlight, casting eerie shadows across the walls. She observed the dwarves and elves and men milling about, their forms like black shadows moving through a sea of glittering gold. She could also see the many different levels of Erebor itself, the walkways, the halls that led into different portions of the mountain: apartments, mines, storerooms, most still unexplored, still too far upwards for the workers to have made progress to these areas.

It was the thought of seeing the unexplored, the undiscovered portions of the mountain, that drew Lyla to the area, piqued her interest.

Lyla also liked the alcove because it led to other walkways to these other rooms, untouched by the excavations, still bearing the markings of their previous occupants. There beneath the years of dust, Lyla could see the life that Erebor once bore. She could see the way things used to be, see pieces of the lives of the people.

All of it was beautiful even as it was a haunting reminder of the loss the dwarves had suffered. In one of her most recent perusals, Lyla had discovered a banner of rich blues and brilliant golds, detailing the line of Durin. She'd spied Thorin's name near the top along with Frerin and Dis as well as their father and grandfather. They were direct descendents, heirs to the throne. On the same family line, she'd also discovered Dain's name, woven carefully into the blue material.

THAT sent her on edge and brought back the nightmares with startling vividness. The darkened cell, the unheard pleas. The furious, unearthly glint in Dain's eye as he thrust her into the very cell he now sat in.

'Stop it Lyla.' She chastised herself as she tucked her knees to her chest, wrapping arms around them in a comforting way.

But, Lyla couldn't stop the images, couldn't stop the rush of emotions, the hammering of her heart. Here in the quiet solitude of the hall, away from the bustling activity, the curious glances, the protective shadows of her companions, Lyla could think, think about things she didn't find pleasant, but things that were necessary to understanding what had happened and helping to explain the warning that she felt in her heart.

She was tired of waking from nightmares, riddled with missing pieces and terrifying laughter.

She needed to understand. She needed to sort through things.

And she needed to sort through them on her own, without the prying (worried) glances of the rest of the company.

Especially Thorin.

This area provided her with solitude, something she had a hard time finding with the others constantly following her every step. Not that she didn't appreciate them, mind you. Sometimes, though, she just needed a moment to stew, contemplate and sort through her own mind without any haranguing. She didn't want to worry them. They had much more to contend with than the frightened thoughts of a hobbit far from home.

Here she could breathe a bit, stretch herself out and appreciate the time to simply think.

Even if the thoughts were unpleasant.

So, that is was Lyla did for a good while. She breathed deeply and gazed about. She glanced down upon the main halls.

She watched the scenes below her, relishing in a chance to escape for a moment. The cavern glowed brightly, gems glittering in the torchlight, the shimmering walls bouncing the light about, reflecting it off the smoothed surface of the polished walls, making the room appear larger and brighter. She could make out the small sliver of shadow that marked where the doorway towards the dungeons lay. Where Dain Ironfoot still sat in his cell.

She knew, somehow, that the dwarf was connected to what had happened during the battle, the bits and pieces she could remember anyway.

And yet…

She couldn't put her finger on WHY she believed he was also innocent. It didn't make sense to believe both things.

'You are a fool' the soft, dulcet hiss made Lyla cringe. She shut he eyes and shook her head momentarily to dispel the feeling of unease that was settling over her.

'You are a fool, Halfling,' the voice hissed again softly, "You had a chance to escape all of this. But now? Now you will burn. And all will come to ruin because of you.'

Flashes of a hooded figure, a hissing whisper and a massive orc sailed through her mind. Her arm burned just thinking of it all.

But there was something familiar about that hooded creature. Something she needed to remember…

'It could all end,' the voice had gone softer, more placating.

A chill ran down Lyla's spine as the voice tried to soothe her.

'You could leave them now, give me back what is mine. It would be so easy.'

Lyla started and her eyes flew open as she stared down in shock.

Her hand had been running over the smooth surface of the gold ring that hung from her neck.

She pulled back as though she'd been burned, scowling down at the offensive trinket.

There was something decidedly evil about the ring, something odd.

She loathed the thing.

And yet, she couldn't part from it. Something prevented her from ridding herself of the trinket. She hesitated to take the thing off her neck. She didn't dare.

In all her arguments with Thorin and the others declaring that she was perfectly fine around the mountain, Lyla still felt unease.

Suspicion.

'You are a fool…'

"Mistress Baggins!"

Lyla shook her head, certain that she was losing her mind.

Aule what was wrong with her?

Had someone…?

"Mistress Baggins!"

There it was again. Lyla gazed around confused. She couldn't quite make out who the speaker was, but she was certain this time that someone HAD indeed called her name.

Hadn't they?

Slowly rising to her feet, Lyla gazed around, looking down towards the shaped moving through the lower chambers.

"MISTRESS BAGGINS!"

That was Ori!

The echoes of shouts and crashing objects reached the hobbit's ears and she tore back towards the opening and the hidden hallway.

Back towards Ori.

Thick, black smoke started to billow in the hallway as she got closer to the library, and Lyla's heart jumped to her throat. She covered her nose and mouth and crouched below the smoke line and slowly inched towards the commotion.

"Burn them all," a gruff voice commanded. Lyla could hear Ori's struggles as more smoke started to billow overhead.

"Don't!" The sweatered dwarf cried, and Lyla's heart lurched at the pain that laced the word.

A blow was struck.

Lyla could hear something connecting with flesh and Ori let out a low groan.

"You shut yer trap, ye little leech," Another gruff voice spat and Ori let out another small groan as someone struck the dwarf again.

Lyla seethed.

How dare they!

"Oi let him go!" Lyla coughed as she stumbled from the shadows, startling the small group converged around the scribe.

She needed to distract them. Take their attention away from Ori. Do something.

Four dwarves, clad in thick breastplates and carrying large axes and swords stood between the hobbit and her friend who was being held back by a fifth. This one had a long silver braid pulled back and falling just past his shoulders, a long thin scar marred one cheek and large brown eyes were narrowed beneath large furry brows.

"Ah," the dwarf holding Ori sneered, "The Halfling. Just the creature I was hoping to find here. Tucked away in your own little haven was it?" He snorted, "What a fool you were to think you were safe."

"You won't touch her!" Ori growled, surprising even Lyla with the venom dripping from his words, "You will not harm her."

The dwarf turned his attention back to Ori pressing him firmly against the far shelf, "Oh won't I?" he muttered lowly, "I will burn every last book to the ground. I will tear this mountain apart to get to that filth. She is not one of us. She has betrayed our people and I will exact retribution for her crimes."

The dwarf turned back towards the hobbit and gave a sickening smile.

"Grab her."

Smoke continued to billow from the large maps and books that had been sitting on the table and Lyla's heart broke at the loss of such treasures, even as she stumbled backwards, grabbing a rather large tome thrusting it towards the oncoming guards, knocking one off balance as two others followed her back into the tunnel.

She caught sight of the burning manuscripts and maps and Ori's surprised and terrified face before the darkness of the tunnel consumed her. Thankfully, though, she'd grown accustomed to the tunnel's pathways and navigated through the blackness easily, forcing her coughs back as the smoke stung her eyes and made breathing difficult.

She had to be silent.

The sound of heavy boots behind her had the hobbit hastening her stride. She reached the same outcropping she'd been to only a few moments before and quickly sped down another pathway.

'So much for my secret retreat,' she though a little dourly as two lumbering shadows followed closely behind her.

Ducking down another hallway, Lyla stumbled over bits of rubble and debris, knocking into an old, dilapidated wooden table that had been pushed against one wall. Her hip collided with the corner making the hobbit hiss in pain.

"Down there," she heard one call as she scrambled beneath the table itself, willing her breathing to level out.

Aule she hated to do this…

But she couldn't outrun them.

Pulling the necklace from about her neck, Lyla quickly removed the golden ring from the chain and shoved the ring on her finger.

Instantly, her arm ignited in a furious spasm of pain and Lyla had to bite back a cry as she clutched her arm.

"We know you're here poppet." Through the haze and the growing whispers in her ears, Lyla could make out the faint echo of the dwarves' boots as they slowly passed by the table.

"You have something we want. Something we need," the second dwarf remarked low and guttural.

Another wave of pain shot through Lyla's arm and she shifted her legs to scoot backwards, praying that she'd not made too much noise.

An arm thrust under the table so suddenly that Lyla shrieked in surprise and scrambled to the side to avoid being dragged out.

" 'ello poppet!" the voice crooned peering beneath the table, his torchlight casting shadows across his face.

Lyla watched the pock-marked dwarf's expression shift from delight to confusion as he gazed beneath the table, searching for signs of a frightened hobbit.

But, he didn't know she had a ring on.

"Where are you!" He growled reaching back, trying to grab hold of something, anything that remotely resembled a hobbit-like shape.

Lyla shifted back further, away from the dwarf's searching grasp.

She held her breath and stilled her movements, though she was certain the dwarf could hear the thrumming of her heart.

The dwarf appeared completely flummoxed as he gazed beneath the table, waving his torch to cast more light in the darkened hall where Lyla sat huddled.

'You are only delaying the inevitable,' the voice (it must be the ring's voice she thought) hummed delightedly, 'they will find you. You will perish.'

"Ugh, come on then!" The other dwarf growled, "There's nothin' here! Let's get a move one before she gets further away."

Lyla nearly breathed a sigh of relief at het comment.

That is, until, the first dwarf, with a sound glare, thrust his arm forward again and connected his palm with the front of her tunic.

His eyes widened at the connection and he immediately tightened his grip as Lyla tried to scoot away.

With a small shriek, the hobbit (still invisible) was pulled from beneath the old table and dangled high in the air above the dwarf.

'Splendid,' she thought, kicking her legs, her hands clawing at the dwarf's exposed hands. Her foot connected with the hard metal breastplate, making her toes sting from the contact.

The dwarf, however, did not appreciate the attack on his hand and gave the hobbit a firm shake.

"Stop that!" He growled, as the force of his movements made Lyal's teeth chatter.

He glared, but appeared curious "How are ye doin' this then?" His beady brown eyes narrowed as he frowned at the invisible hobbit, "Come on then, come back so I can see ye."

"I don't see how that's going to happen," she retorted lowly, knowing that she was getting herself into further trouble. "You are rather stupid. Why would I listen to the likes of you? You'd not understand it all anyway."

'Tookish' her mind immediately remarked as the dwarf's face darkened, fury igniting in his eyes.

He raised the—still invisible—hobbit higher snarling.

"You little…!"

Lyla's foot connected with the dwarf's face (as she'd hoped), her strong leather sole ramming into the dwarf's nose with a sickening 'crunch'.

Immediately the grip on her tunic loosened and Lyla landed backwards with an awkward 'oomph' her bad wrist stinging from the sudden contact with the cold stone floor. Hastening to her feet, Lyla darted around the large dwarf clutching his nose and the smaller one who stood about looking rather dazed by the whole turn of events.

However, being concealed beneath the ring's power also placed a haze over Lyla's vision. Consequently, she missed the large rock in her path.

Her foot connected with the rough boulder and she went toppling over, her hands going out to steady her fall.

The ring slid awkwardly from her finger as she did so and the hobbit scrambled to keep hold of the small trinket as she clattered to the floor, her fingers encircling the small band before it could bounce away.

It was as if the ring was trying to escape from her!

"There!" Lyla cast a glance back towards the two dwarves who were—one more—pursuing the hobbit.

With a soft groan, she rolled to her feet and shoved the ring in her pocket, making sure the button sealed the pocket flap shut.

She darted for the entrance.

And collided with yet another creature.

Oh for Aule's sake! This was getting rather ridiculous.

Foreign arms encircled her waist and Lyla struggled to get away from her new captor. She brought her hand up to strike at the creature's face.

But, then she was shoved behind the dwarf (as she came to realize) as her two pursuers came into view, their snarls echoing in the hall.

"Leave her be," Lyla recognized that voice and gazed up, in wonder at the young dwarf Rin who stood between her and her attackers.

Said attackers only laughed at Lyla's would-be protector, "And you think that we'll be listenin' to you?" The dwarf with two long braids tied into his dark beard hissed with a glare, "You should not meddle in things that are beyond you boy."

"Nothing is beyond me," Rin's voice was hard, cold. (and very familiar). Lyla stood rooted to the spot. "I understand perfectly what is going on. It is you who is the fool."

The pock-marked dwarf let out a low snort, as blood dripped from his nose. He too smirked at Rin and then cast a murderous look towards Lyla. "You are a disappointment to your father, then, I imagine," he retorted lowly, "He would have never stood for this injustice."

"My father is not the man that sits in that cell!" Rin snarled drawing his sword, "And I will ensure that he receives justice. YOU are deluded in thinking this will solve your problems. I thought you were smarter than that Fror. My father always spoke highly of you."

"And you are a fool to side against me on this, boy. You stand to protect that creature from your own kin?"

"No," Rin hissed, "I stand to do what it right. Mistress Baggins will not be harmed."

Fror and the other dwarf advanced quickly towards Rin, their weapons drawn as Lyla shifted backwards away from the onslaught of weapons.

"Grab the Halfling Loni!" Fror thundered as he pressed his weight against Rin's thin sword, pushing the young dwarf backwards.

The other dwarf, Loni cast a wicked smile towards the hobbit and with powerful strides reached for Lyla.

With a loud cry, Rin swiveled his legs, throwing Fror's balance off and knocking the powerful swing of the dwarf's sword askew. Bringing the hilt of his own sword upward, Rin connected a blow to the dwarf's jaw sending the elder warrior stumbling backwards.

Rin turned his attention towards Loni, blue eyes blazing.

"You will not touch her."

Loni ignored Rin's command and lunged, instead, at Lyla.

But Lyla had been prepared. Taking the large rock that had laid at her feet a moment ago, the hobbit hurled the pointed object towards the oncoming dwarf.

The dwarf, however, had been expecting her attack and shifted to the side as the rock came towards him.

With a low snarl, he sped up his movements and pounced upon the hobbit.

Vice-like hands wrapped round her shoulders and pinched at her neck, making it a bit difficult to breathe. Then, the dwarf whirled the tow of the around so that Lyla was facing Rin, her back pressed into Loni's chest, as he shifted his hands, still keeping a firm grip on the hobbit's shoulders.

"She is mine," Loni snarled at Rin, "She will pay for her crimes."

He began to slowly limp towards the entry to the library dragging the struggling hobbit with him.

But Lyla wasn't going to give up so easily. Digging her heels into the ground as best she could, Lyla brought her mouth down upon the dwarf's arm, sinking her teeth into the Loni's exposed wrist.

When one was without a weapon, it did well to cheat a little.

Loni cried out and thrust Lyla from his person, shoving her to the ground, twisting Lyla's bandaged wrist awkwardly.

And then Rin was there, stepping past Lyla, sword drawn and pointing at the dwarf's neck.

"Make one more move," he hissed darkly, "And I'll cut your throat."

"Are you alright Master Baggins," Rin's voice was soft, "He didn't harm you?"

Lyla blinked a few times and made to answer, but then immediately clamped her mouth shut as she noted movement from behind Rin.

Sweet Eru, this day had turned for the worse.

Scrambling to her feet, as quickly as she could, Lyla dove forward.

"Move!" She cried, ramming into the young dwarf's chest, as the swing from an axe sailed over their heads. The dwarf Fror let out a low growl as Rin and Lyla toppled backwards, out of his range, rolling over one another across the floor.

Lyla's head connected with the cool stone walkway and spots danced before her eyes, her vision dimming.

Rin's face loomed above her as he shouted something at her, though she couldn't make out the words.

And then darkness consumed her.


	3. Plots and Truth

**A/N: Sorry that it has taken a bit of time to get this chapter out. I've been working on applications to Graduate school...here's hoping! Anyway, I'm really nervous about this chapter. I hope you don't end up too confused or bored. ugh...I always speculate and second guess myself. But I truly hope you enjoy it. I truly do. And as always comments are certainly appreciated and welcome. Thank you for all the lovely follows and comments and the wonderful readers that you are. I adore you all. **

**Oh, and before I forget, go listen to Priscilla Ahn's song 'Dream' it's sort of a theme son for my darling Lyla. :)**

**"Home is behind, the world ahead,  
and there are many paths to tread  
through shadows to the edge of night,  
until the stars are all alight."-J.R.R. Tolkien**

Chapter 3:

**Summary: Thorin's been keeping secrets.**

He paced the room slowly, memorizing each crack in the stony walls and the gentle slope of the stone as it curved upwards and around the archway that served as a door. The room itself was sparsely furnished, a few worn chairs and one long table, each covered in a thick layer of dust after so many years of disuse in the darkness of the dragon's keep.

'Yes' he thought somberly, 'This will do for now.'

It was secluded enough, secure enough.

It would work.

* * *

Thorin's jaw stung as the assailant landed a solid hit to the dwarf's mouth, the blunt end of the attacker's axe splitting the king's lip.

With a grunt, the king stepped back and spit the blood that was beginning to pool.

He stood ready, muscles wound tightly, waiting to spring forth into action. But something nagged him.

It didn't make sense, this whole ambush.

None of it.

An attack in such a public place, with guards nearby and the council on the other side of the door? It could, too easily, be thwarted.

And the assailant was alone.

Which is why Thorin's anger and suspicion were growing ever brighter as he dodged another blow from the veiled dwarf before him.

Balin was there too, at Thorin's side, fighting with a grace and agility that rivaled dwarves much younger. White beard whipping around, he buried a knife in the dwarf's arm as Thorin knocked the assailant off his feet with a blow to the chest, the hilt of orcrist coming up to connect with the dwarf's chin.

With a low growl, he pressed his boot to the dwarf's throat, causing the masked creature to choke and try to claw the boot off his windpipe.

The commotion had drawn the attention of the members of the council. They poured from their room, their enraged cries filling the hall.

"What in Durin's name is goin' on," Gloin's agitated and confused voice filled the hall.

Balin knelt down near the pinned dwarf and carefully removed the creature's mask. His eyes widened at the sight.

"Nàli?" the wizened advisor whispered, horror creeping over his features. "How did you…WHEN?"

The pinned dwarf, Nàli narrowed his eyes up at Balin and struggled to remove Thorin's foot from his throat.

Even then, though, the dwarf let out a low, strangled chuckle as his gaze shifted to Thorin, his dark red hair matted and pulled from its long braid, spittle covering his lips.

"It's all for naught, king under the mountain," Nàli hissed darkly, "All will come to ruin."

Thorin's eyes narrowed down at the dwarf who had once stood by his father, by his family, counted as a chief advisor and friend.

'All will come to ruin.'

"What have you done," the dwarf king growled lowly, his agitation growing. "What have you started?"

The dwarf coughed and laughed.

"I have done nothing. It is you." Nàli smirked and winced as Thorin pressed harder against his throat, "You started this," he croaked, "And it will bring about YOUR ruin. I am but a foot soldier in the great war."

"Thorin!" Fili's voice was frantic. Thorin turned, surprised, to see his eldest nephew barreling down the hall, his eyes wide in panic as he took in the scene before him. His gaze darted between his uncle and the dwarf pinned down by Thorin's large boot. The king watched, with surprise, as Fili's features darkened considerably.

"The library," the blonde dwarf remarked, meeting Thorin's gaze with his worried one, "Uncle, it's on fire!"

Nàli began to chuckle again as Thorin stared down in confusion and horror.

No.

"It will all come to ruin, Thorin Oakenshield."

* * *

'Baggins…'

'Baggins…'

The flashes of a shadow swam through her mind.

'Baggins…'

Lyla could feel a tingling pain in her temple as the world came back into a hazy focus. Her ears pounded in rhythm to her heartbeat as she stared up at the cavernous, glittering walls of Erebor's upper walkways.

"Master Baggins!"

Lyla rolled on her side and groaned lowly as her world tilted. Spots of color danced before her eyes as she slowly struggled to get to her feet, hissing as her tender wrist buckled beneath her weight.

"Get her up!"

Even with the throbbing in her head, Lyla recognized that voice and it sent waves of curiosity and suspicion coursing through her.

A strong pair of arms secured their grip upon her, slowly hoisting her to her feet.

Her knees wobbled as she tried to get her bearings and shift away from whomever had a hold upon her.

"Move!" Another familiar voice hissed, near Lyla's left.

They pivoted to the left. She heard the distinct 'ting' of metal, as colors blended into one another.

"Get that woman out of here!"

She hazarded a glance towards the four elves, which stood like sentinels between herself and the two growling dwarves that had attacked her.

Legolas.

Tauriel.

Elladan.

And Elrohir.

Confusion made her head throb painfully as she stared wide-eyed at the four elves before her.

How…?

Wha..?

"Come Master Baggins, I've got you," Rin's voice washed over Lyla's cheek, the warm breath making her nose twitch as he wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her unsteady movements away from the dwarves and elves who were converging together, swords and axes clashing against one another, enraged snarls escaping her would be captors' mouths.

Her head was spinning with thoughts.

"No, wait, we must stop," She remarked, trying (nearly unsuccessfully) to pull from Rin's firm grasp, "Where is Ori? What in Aule's name is going on?"

"Not now, Master Baggins," Rin remarked lowly, his large blue eyes narrowing down at the hobbit, betraying the worry he felt, "We have to get out of here."

Lyla, though, would not be swayed. "I have to help Ori!" She remarked, heatedly, the corners of her vision still dim as she sent a glared to the young dwarf and dug her heels into the ground. "I can't just leave him!"

A dwarf snarled as it tore past the elven guard, knocking Tauriel from her feet. The young dwarf holding Lyla shoved her to the side and the surprised (and dizzy) hobbit landed on her side as Rin lunged forward, catching the enraged attacker in the stomach.

The two stout creatures sank to the ground in a tangle of limbs and grunts as Rin connected a solid hit to the other dwarf's jaw before having a fist connect with his own cheek.

A searing pain filled Lyla's scalp as she was yanked back by her hair. The hobbit let out a shriek of surprise and pain, kicking her feet to gain some momentum as a soot-covered face snarled down on her.

"You will tell me where it is, you filth," The dwarf spat as her, brown eyes alight with rage, "You will give it back. It belongs to the dwarves. Not some Halfling rat."

"Oi let go!" Lyla groaned, trying to twist away, wincing as her wrist was jerked backwards by the dwarf's other hand, "I've got nothing for you!"

Lyla clawed at the dwarf's hands as she was pulled to her feet.

"A thief and a liar," the dwarf spat in her ear, his grip tightening around her scalp and arm, "And thieves and liars never do well. Not here."

A firm blow to the jaw had Lyla's eyes watering as pain blossomed against her mouth.

Aule that hurt!

But a soft flutter of wind whipped past the hobbit's ear and suddenly the pressure on her person released. The dwarf's hands shrank away from her as he fell back with a cry.

Lyla stumbled away, the ground tilting to meet her as he caught sight of Legolas, bow trained on the dwarf who had held Lyla a moment ago.

The dwarf who now has an arrow in his shoulder and was howling in pain as he clutched his injured arm close to his person, crouching to his knees in pain.

"My next shot will not miss," The blonde elf remarked stepping forward. Black smoke billowed overhead, as he glared down at the dwarf, "I would not tempt your life for this endeavor."

Legolas cast an apologetic smile down at the hobbit, "I am sorry," he murmured softly.

"On your feet little hobbit," Elladan's soft voice was commanding and strong arms hoisted her upright once more, "You must hasten from here."

Lyla shook her head in refusal.

Aule did they not get it?

"I can't leave Ori. I can't do that to him."

"Your young Master Ori will be alright," Rin remarked coming to her side, the dwarf who attacked him being held down by Tauriel.

Lyla would not be swayed.

"I cannot risk it!" she hissed, trying to pull away, "I will not let those—"

Rin gave Lyla a firm shake as he whipped her around to face him, "He will be fine. It wasn't him they wanted," Lyla watched Elladan retreating slowly, back towards the dwindling fight. "It was you, Master Baggins, do you understand that? Going back there won't do any good, especially when he's tried to protect you. If you go back there…" He trailed off frowning, "And I'm certain that one of the others have alerted the king to the fire. It will all be taken care of. Now come."

"But if Thorin will be there…"

"No, Master Baggins," Rin's voice was hard, commanding. "Come. This is important. We will find your Thorin soon. I promise."

The young dwarf all but dragged the dizzy hobbit further from the Library's hall and away from the dwarves and elves, threats being thrown her way as they travelled down one of the corridors, long since in disrepair and covered in dust.

She caught Legolas' gaze (with his bow still trained on the dwarf who has assaulted her). The elf sent Lyla a soft, resigned smile as she disappeared around the corner.

Biting back a cough Lyla stumbled along, Rin's grip never loosening from her waist as he marched her further from harm.

And further from her friends and companions.

As the hall grew ever darker, the hobbit wasn't quite sure what to make of her situation. Her heart was hammering and she wondered how this dwarf was connected with the elves.

The elves?

Aule help her, she was confused.

"In here, Master Baggins," Rin murmured pushing Lyla forward gently, keeping a tight grip on her arm, leading her towards a small corner stairwell that curved sharply downwards. "Just a bit more, I promise."

Lyla could barely make out each step as they marched in the darkness, the growing silence setting Lyla's heart racing. Downward they traveled, following the winding steps, the only noise that she could make out were the soft shuffling movements of their footfalls against the cold stone.

Slowly, though, a light began to shine in the darkness, making her steps more certain, as she was guided down the stairwell and towards a low hallway.

The light grew brighter as they edged near a room and Lyla's curiosity began to build.

Where exactly were they?

"Ah Master Baggins," A soft dulcet murmur reached the hobbit's ears.

Lyla stiffened in surprise as she slowly shuffled into the well-lit room, her eyes going wide as she gazed at the figure before, though, the visage that greeted her hadn't been totally unexpected.

"Thranduil."

* * *

Thorin bit back a cough as he barreled through the library, the thick black smoke making his eyes sting as he searched for a familiar head of curls.

Fili was untying Ori, the group of attackers having scattered when they heard the guards and king dashing their way.

"Lyla!" He called edging towards the hidden doorway that Ori had noted.

The dwarf king covered his mouth with his sleeve, followed closely by Dwalin and a few other guards.

"Lass!" Dwlain's voice rang out, down the passageway as they edged forward, towards the growing opening and light.

The sight that greeted him, set the dwarf's nerves on edge.

Four elves contending against dwarves.

His people.

The tall, lithe archers, held the dwarves in place, their arrows and knives trained on the figures.

One of the Rivendell brothers turned as Thorin came fully into the light.

"Master Oakenshield," The elf, Elrohir's voice rang clearly through the cavernous hall, "You are to come with us. We know where your hobbit might be."

* * *

"This is hardly an exceptional place for a meeting, Master Elf," Lyla remarked, "You know that Thorin will be angry when he finds out, do you not?"

"Indeed," Thranduil remarked flatly, his gazed narrowing on the hobbit's face, "It would appear that you are injured."

What? Lyla stared confusedly at the elf for a moment.

Her head gave a painful jolt, reminding her of her earlier collision with the ground.

Oh!

Yes.

Yes, of course.

"It's nothing."

Rin was guiding her towards one of the chairs.

"I'm fine," she remarked agitatedly resisting the urge to shove the dwarf's attentive person away from her.

Her anger was beginning to boil.

She was confused.

And Aule she hated when she was confused. Especially when no one would answer her questions.

"They attacked before I could get to her. Six in all. And there were five more in the library that I know of. I can't guarantee that we weren't seen by an others either. I wasn't anticipating it so soon and she—" he gazed down at Lyla with a look of thoughtful confusion, "She tried to save my life."

Thranduil quirked an eyebrow at the hobbit as he bent low, inspecting her head. Long, pale fingers gingerly pressed against her temple and moved toward the back of her skull.

"Yes," The elf murmured, "I've come to find that this particular hobbit is prone to rash actions on behalf of dwarves."

Lyla could feel her cheeks warming as anger was replaced by embarrassment.

Elves!

But, with the situation being as odd as it was, with secret passages and the unusual alliance between the elves and this lone dwarf, Rin (a character that Thorin himself seemed to disapprove of) didn't erase the trust that Lyla had in Thranduil. He had helped her too many times before for her to simply cast him aside in suspicion.

He'd saved her life.

Even if he was a bit abrasive in nature at times.

Thranduil traced his thumb along Lyla's hairline, frowning slightly. She winced as the elf king touched the tender knot on the back of the hobbit's head, making Lyla's ears ring and her head pound at the contact.

"My apologies," he hummed lightly, rising, slowly brushing the dust from his green tunic.

Lyla spied a dark red stain on his fingers.

She caught the elf's gaze with a questioning one of her own.

"You'll want to have that wound cleaned soon, Master Baggins," He remarked lowly, "I'm sure your Master Oin can give you a draught for that headache as well."

The hobbit nodded lightly, but raised her brow, in questioning, to the king.

"Yes, well, that's all lovely," She muttered a bit agitatedly, "Can we neglect the niceties for the moment? Would you care to tell me just why we're meeting here in secret? Who were those dwarves? Why," She huffed, "what is going on? And where exactly are we?"

"We are in the lower apartments and storage rooms," Rin remarked, "We had to get you…away from spying eyes."

Thranduil turned his head slightly and frowned at the hobbit.

"You can no longer wait for the wizard, Lyla Baggins," The elf's voice was soft, but clipped. Lyla could see the tension in his shoulders. "A great power is moving. I can feel it. And your dwarf has told you nothing about the arkenstone or the ring I believe."

"About the arkenstone?" Her hand traveled to her pocket as her heart started to pound, "What ring?"

Thranduil didn't miss the way Lyla's fingers twitched as she rested her hand on her pocket.

But the elf said nothing.

"I believe, Master Baggins, that my cousin was supposed to explain this earlier," Rin remarked turning fully towards the seated hobbit.

His dark hair was tied back as rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his stance.

He was nervous.

"I don't mean disrespect of course," he remarked, "I merely mean that he should have informed you that—"

"Your cousin?" Lyla cut in, eyeing the young dwarf warily.

Pieces were beginning to fall slowly into place.

"Of course," she muttered more to herself than anyone else, "Of course he would be. Fool of Took."

She should have seen it earlier.

"You are Dain's son, I presume. That certainly explains all the sneaking about."

Rin furrowed his brow, "Yes, I-well, I had hoped that you would be able to convince Master Oakenshield of my father's innocence."

Lyla stared back incredulously.

"Innocence? In what? What is he innocent of?"

Rin balked at the hobbit's inquisitive and skeptical questions. Lyla could see him swallow as he averted his gaze.

'Liar' the hissing voice hummed in her ear, 'He is nothing but a liar.'

"I know that what happened to you…" The dwarf shook his head, "That is, I know that your dealings with me father…"

Rin's eyes slammed shut for a moment and he pinched the bridge of his nose, in a similar way that Lyla had seen Thorin do.

"I know, Master Baggins," the dwarf began again, slowly, still rubbing his face, "I know that my father's actions against you were uncalled for and cruel. You did not deserve them. But, that was not my father. Something has changed. HE has changed and he's not the man he should be."

'Liar' the voice hissed again, 'He lies. You cannot trust him'

Lyla winced again.

"I don't see how this has anything to do with me. I couldn't convince him, not after what happened. He won't believe it."

"It has everything to do with you, Lyla Baggins," Thranduil remarked quietly, his unblinking gaze trained on the hobbit, "What happened to Dain Ironfoot can be no coincidence. You know of what I speak. You can feel it can't you."

It wasn't a question.

Thranduil's gaze had hardened as he stared down at the hobbit, his mouth forming into a thin line, eyes narrowing.

Lyla's heart hammered and she felt strange knots twist in her stomach.

She wanted to deny it, wanted to push the thought aside, but…

"There is no such thing as an ordinary magic ring, Shireling," Thranduil continued. "During the great forging of the rings, seven were given to the dwarf lords. Seven. Of those seven, one was passed down through the line of Durin. Originally, we suspected the ring lost, with Thrain. But,"

"That will be enough of your chatter, Elf."

Lyla recognized that cold voice.

She and Rin both turned with a surprised gaze at the king under the mountain, flanked on either side by the elves with Dwalin and Fili and Kili standing in behind.

"What mean you by deceiving me," Thorin snarled, stepping forward, "Plotting an attack and kidnapping her."

"We did no such thing-" Rin began.

Thorin's enraged person was upon the young dwarf, dark hair whipping about his face as he maneuvered between himself and Lyla, fisting the dwarf's tunic in his hand.

"You will hold your tongue, boy. This is none of your concern," he snarled, shoving Rin against the wall, elbow going to the lad's throat, "You will not touch her again. You will not speak to her."

"Thorin!" Lyla was perturbed the sudden shift in Thorin's demeanor. "Let him go."

The dwarf king stiffened, never taking his eyes from Rin as he stepped back slowly, releasing his arm.

Rin coughed and shoving Thorin as far from himself as possible.

Lyla was surprised that the dwarf king allowed that contact to occur.

Thranduil sighed and frowned at Thorin. "Come now, Master dwarf, if I had wanted to kidnap her or cause harm, I would have allowed those buffoons to attack your little Shireling, Master Oakenshield. Or I would have taken her from the mountain instead of skulking in the shadows."

He turned back towards Lyla and continued speaking.

"Gandalf made a discovery in Dol Guldur," He remarked, ignoring Thorin's command for silence, "He found the ring and returned it to the heir of Erebor. To Thorin."

Dol Guldur. A Shudder ran down Lyla's spine at the name, though she wasn't certain why.

A low hiss filled her ears, making her head pound.

"I don't understand what does that would have to do with—"

"No, that is enough. This will not be discussed!" Thorin thundered, sending Lyla a hard, but pleading, look.

Lyla could see the pain in that gaze.

"That ring of Durin, Master Baggins," the elf king cut in, "holds great power, influence. It promotes the greedy nature of the dwarves, it enhances it. Gandalf wanted the ring destroyed. But I know that Thorin has not completed that task yet."

Suddenly Lyla found it hard to breathe. A ring that influenced greed?

Flashes of Thorin's infuriated face as he dangled her above the wall blazed through her thoughts, as vivid as the moment she experienced them.

The bright, feverish eyes. The quick temper.

Aule, he had a ring that could bring all that back?

Her chest ached at the thought.

WHY though?

"Why hasn't he destroyed it?" She croaked, resisting the urge to shudder.

She turned to the dwarf king who was watching her carefully, eyes hooded.

"Why have you not destroyed it?" She murmured.

'He will fall, Shireling'

She could hear the dark chuckle in the recesses of her mind

"It is not important Lyla," Thorin remarked lowly, gruffly, "This should not be discussed now."

He shot a glare at the Elf King who looked completely unruffled by the frigid stare.

"There is a plot, a plot to drive you out. A plot to take the arkenstone," Rin remarked quietly, eyes still downcast, avoiding the intense gaze of the king under the mountain. "That is why I seek your help Thorin. It is in your best interest."

"So you kidnap a hobbit to convince 'im? You wish us to trust you and you do-do this?" Dwalin retorted heatedly, trying to elbow his way past the elves.

Thorin made to step towards Rin. But Lyla quickly grabbed the furious dwarf's arm to halt him.

"He didn't kidnap me," she remarked, shooting Dwalin a stern look. "He saved me. As did the elves. Now hush."

She ignored the way Thorn's brows rose in question to her rebuke.

"When we left the Blue Mountains after the meeting, we were ambushed. The scouting party, my father and I and a few other guards, were attacked by orcs."

Rin cringed at the thought.

"I don't…we were separated and my father, I don't know what they did to him," He sighed, "We managed to escape and reconvene with the main party. And, since then my father has been wild almost. Not himself. He's lost all sense of judgment and thrives on anger. And he would not discuss what those orcs had done. He pretended that nothing had happened."

He caught Lyla's eye.

"There have to be some among the council and the guard who are allied with whatever force that is driving this plot. They are after something and they are using my father as a means of getting it."

"Not just something," Thranduil commented, his long blonde hair reflecting the glow of the firelight as he began to pace, "They seek the symbol of divine right under the mountain. They seek the arkenstone. They seek to overthrow Thorin to get it. And they seek the rings. They seek the power each item holds."

He cast a sidelong glance at Lyla.

"You know of what I speak, Shireling. You've felt its power. You know that there is something sinister about that ring you carry. This is only the beginning. We cannot ignore it any longer."

"I carry nothing," she muttered, "Nothing of importance anyway."

Thranduil sighed.

"Indeed. You cannot deny this any longer. There were more than just seven rings created, Lyla Baggins, surely you know that. And any magic ring comes with a price."

'He lies.'

"Why not talk to Thorin of this," the hobbit reasoned, gesturing to the hulking shadow that was near her. Her voice sounded strange (strangled) in her ears. She could feel the ring humming in her pocket.

'lies' it murmured, 'all of it lies'

"He's the one who you should discuss this with. Not me. I'm just a hobbit."

"And I will not discuss this further," Thorin ground out. "It is a useless matter and it will be handled when the time is appropriate. You cannot force me to attend to something merely because you wish it master elf."

Thorin sent a glare towards Rin. "And you, cousin," he spat, "You cannot convince me that this tale of yours holds any merit. Highly convenient that most do not know of this ambush."

To his credit, Lyla noted, Rin met Thorin's bitter glare with one of his own, blue eyes hard and blazing.

"Do not think that I would fabricate such a tale for my own amusement," The young dwarf stepped towards his cousin and king, "I care for my father as you cared for yours. I will not let him suffer if I can help it. And I would gain nothing by harming Master Baggins. You value her too much and I…" the dwarf trailed off.

"You know nothing of suffering!" Thorin growled, standing straighter, his hands balling into fists, "You know of this world, child. Do not think to compare the two of us."

"Oh but I do," The bitterness raged in Rin's words, "I know suffering, Thorin Oakenshield, I know sorrow and pain. I am not you, that is certain, but do not think that my age indicates a life of ease."

"This is enough," Thorin remarked, his voice clipped, as he stood close to Rin, peering into the young dwarf's eyes, challenging him. "I will hear no more of this. It is finished."

"It is not finished," Thranduil remarked darkly, "You cannot ignore this much longer, Thorin Oakenshield. The world is in danger." He turned towards Lyla again, "You can feel it, Shireling, I know you can. The familiar dark power. It festers about you, pulling at you, taunting you."

"Stop," Thorin commanded.

Thranduil ignored.

"You may not recognize it, but I am certain it is the same power that held sway over you those weeks ago. The same evil you experienced on the battlefield."

There was a rushing noise in her ears.

And the distinct, whispering laughter that had haunted her thoughts.

A dark figure.

An evil speech.

"Lyla."

The hobbit blinked up into the face of Elladan, the elf's gaze serious, his dark brows furrowed as he watched her.

"That ring, Lyla Baggins," Thranduil remarked, "That ring of yours holds power. A dark and powerful magic. One I dare not even touch."

"No more," Thorin remarked, grabbing Lyla's arm gently, pulling the hobbit to her feet.

She wobbled at the change, and caught the distinct sound of a growl as it escaped Thorin's lips.

"That is enough," The king snarled, "I have heard enough. This is not the time or place for this discussion."

"You will tell her nothing, king under the mountain," Thranduil snapped coldly, "You have kept her in the shadows all these weeks, refused to discuss what has happened or why Gandalf left. You refuse to acknowledge the suspicion that is rising within your own populace. There are spies, master Dwarf, both in your camp and in my own. Something has corrupted our people. And they want the arkenstone, they want your ring and I certain they will want the hobbit."

He cast another hard glance at Lyla.

"You cannot wait much long on this matter, my dear," he murmured, "You cannot wait for Gandalf's return."

"Leave her out of this," Thorin hissed, stepping back, "This none of her concern. It is not important. And you, master elf, will leave the matter well enough alone."

"Do not think to command me, Thorin Oakenshield," Thranduil's movements were as lightning as he stepped closer to Thorin, arms clasped behind his back as he peered down at the dwarf. "I am no dwarf, nor do I answer to anyone other than myself. I speak in the best interests of your people and mine, of the men of Laketown. There is much more at stake than you, king under the mountain."

Thorin was seething, muttering darkly under his breath as he marched Lyla back upstairs, his growls deepening when the hobbit stumbled.

But Thorin didn't slow his paces, building a distance between the two of them and the rest of the company of elves and dwarves that trailed behind them.

She was certain that the dwarf had not missed the red stain mixed in her dirty hair.

Or the growing bruise along her jaw line.

And Eru help her, she knew that Thorin was going to be angry.

* * *

"I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly," Gandalf bit back a groan as he tried to sit up.

But, a hard knock to the temple sent the grey wizard falling back once more.

"You, though, have elected the way of pain."

Energy coursed through the wizard's body as he was whipped about, the smoky wind filling his nostrils as he dangled over the edge of the tower.

A figure clad in white, with long moonlit hair stood over Gandalf, a sneer on his bearded face, dark beady eyes narrowed. In his hand an onyx staff with a bright oval moonstone sat, a sign of his power.

This was a wizard.

"My old friend," He hissed, pointing his staff at Gandalf's pinned form, "You did not have the wit to see what was right under your nose. A hobbit with the ring of power? And now, now you throw your chances away. And for what? There is no way to survive this. You must join, or you must die."

"Tell me," Gandalf bit out, ignoring the throbbing pain in his side, "When did Saruman the wise abandon reason for madness?"

With another snarl, the white wizard cast his staff and Gandalf slid across the other side of the tower, his back connecting with one of the large posts.

"There can be only one lord of the rings," the grey wizard wheezed rolling to his knees, "Only one. And he does not share power."

Another wave of power rocketed the wizard back, flush against the pillar, forcing Gandalf's head backwards.

"My armies march," Saruman hissed, "Nine riders in black are searching. They will march on that mountain in the Shire. They will find the ring and kill the one who carries it."


	4. Fall Apart

**A/N: Wow. You readers are lovely beyond compare. Thank you for the support, the follows, the reviews, all of it. I appreciate it. And I hope that this chapter lives up to expectations. It's such a complicated story that I'm weaving and I hope I don't leave you readers feeling confused, disoriented or annoyed by any of it. I'm such nervous writer, aren't I? Bah, my apologies. You are all so lovely. I really hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for being wonderful. **

**Song Suggestion: Listen to 'Arwen's Vigil' by the Piano Guys. It's brilliant. **

**"Home is behind, the world ahead,  
and there are many paths to tread  
through shadows to the edge of night,  
until the stars are all alight."-J.R.R. Tolkien**

Chapter 4:

The elf king sighed and rubbed his slender fingers across his chin slowly.

"Thorin Oakenshield is a fool," He muttered lowly, knowing the others would hear his remarks regardless.

"You think he will not assist the Halfling?" Elrohir remarked softly, arms folded together, stance rigid as he watched Thranduil pace, "You think he will not aid her?"

"Half of nothing," The king murmured, "She is half of nothing."

And then he sighed again.

"I think," Thranduil remarked, "That Master Oakenshield cannot see beyond the affairs of the mountain. He cares for Lyla Baggins, that is certain, but something draws his attention away. Even from the ring of Durin. He cannot see the growing danger. He is…distracted." The Elf king turned towards the sons of Elrond and his own Legolas with a grim frown, "The enemy is far closer to us that we've realized. Spies are among us. We must do something."

* * *

"Hold still," Thorin's command was quiet, but firm as he brushed his thumb across Lyla's jaw line slowly.

"Thorin—"

The dwarf's eyes hardened as he gazed at the blossoming bruise, the tender flesh of her cheek. Lyla could see the fury burning brighter in his blue orbs.

"Hold still," he murmured again, fingers brushing the nape of her neck, feeling her scalp, searching for the cut that was hidden beneath frizzy, dirty curls.

"You'll have to talk to me at some point," she muttered softly, catching Thorin's gaze with a glare of her own, "You HAVE to talk to me. This is getting beyond ridiculous you know."

And it was.

Utterly ridiculous.

Thirty minutes they'd sat there in silence. Thirty blasted minutes, after being dragged upstairs by Thorin and Dwalin, into her room, where the king of Erebor began to assess the cut on her head and bruise on her cheek. But, in all that time he'd not said a word about what had happened. Not one ruddy word about the whole fiasco! He just fumed, muttering under his breath in khuzdul (as she finally learned their language was called) shooting the hobbit a wary look every few moments, as he rebound her swollen wrist, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he searched her face, before averting his gaze as the low growling mutters continued.

She suspected it was insulting remarks concerning a particular elf king and his cohorts. Cohorts that Thorin could not exact justice upon, no matter how angry he was.

"There is nothing to discuss Master Baggins," Thorin's voice was low, clipped. Lyla could hear the anger.

And the indifference. He hadn't called her 'Master Baggins' for quite awhile now.

She didn't care.

Pulling back, Lyla stood, and regarded the king before her.

"Is that really all you care about?" She questioned, raising her brow, "Proving your indifference?"

Thorin's brows furrowed and he frowned at the hobbit, "My indifference? When have I been indifferent?"

Dwalin snorted and smirked at the two from his perch at the door.

"Or," Lyla continued folding her arms gingerly, ignoring the shooting pain from her wrist, "Do you take me for a simpleton?"

Thorin looked affronted by the accusation.

"I never said—"

Lyla's glare stopped the dwarf.

"You don't have to declare I'm an idiot," She retorted with a frown, "But for some odd reason you seem to think that I'll believe your remarks on the matter. Clearly there is a great deal to discuss, but YOU are choosing to ignore it."

Thorin let out a low growl.

"There is nothing to discuss," He muttered, standing straighter as he glared down at the hobbit, "It is of no importance right now Givashel."

"That's a lie."

Thorin frowned at Lyla.

"And I am no simpleton, Thorin Oakenshield. This is important. Whatever that ring is, whatever it has to do with the arkenstone and…me," Thorin's jaw clenched, "You cannot claim that there is simply nothing to be concerned with."

"Givashel," The dwarf's voice was dangerously low, "This is not the time to discu—"

"Then tell me when a good time might be," Lyla snapped, "For I do not know what it will take for you to finally open up to me about these things. Weeks you've avoided me, never broaching the subject with me. Never telling me about that ring!"

"Those elves," Thorin spat the word, "and that blasted cousin of mine had no business interfering with my affairs. Mark my words, they are no longer welcome here."

"That's just moronic then," Lyla retorted, "They did nothing wrong. They protected me, Rin saved my life from whoever those attackers were. You should be more concerned with THEM and less with Thranduil and the others."

"They betrayed my trust, Givashel. They manipulated me into seeking you out so that they might promote their own agenda. THAT is something I cannot condone. I am king under the mountain, not Thranduil of the woodland realm. And certainly not my cousin, Rin."

"They did nothing of the sort," Lyla remarked, "Thranduil told me something of great importance, something that YOU have neglected to inform me of."

"You didn't need to know!" Thorin thundered, the volume of his voice making Lyla wince, "It wasn't important right now. That ring wasn't what I was concerned with."

He sent Lyla a firm look, his eyes leading for her to cease her speaking.

"Why haven't you destroyed it?" Lyla's voice had gone soft as she gazed at the infuriated king.

She wouldn't be swayed. He was daft to think she'd ever be swayed.

She was a Took and Baggins, thank you!

Lyla was certain that she could hear the faintest of laughter echoing.

She returned Thorin's look with one of her own, one that brooked no argument.

She hoped.

The dwarf king huffed and flexed his fingers as he paced back and forth in the dimly lit room.

"With the rebuilding plans, the delegations, all of it, I haven't had a chance to make preparations to take care of the blasted ring."

"That's no excuse Thorin. You could have made time."

Thorin sighed agitatedly, "Stubborn," he muttered, "Always so stubborn." The dwarf king ran a hand over his eyes tiredly and sighed, "Can we not speak of this another time?"

"Lad," Dwalin drawled from the door, frown on his gruff face, "Ye best start talkin' to the lass, don't ye think?"

"Why?" Thorin's eyes had darkened as he turned towards his friend standing at the door, "This isn't your concern and it isn't a necessary topic of discussion. We have more important matters to attend to."

"Like what, then, yer majesty?" Dwalin's voice was soft, dangerous as he frowned at the king, "Here I was thinkin' the lass meant a great deal to ye, and I'm comin' to find that ye've got more important matters than discussin' a very dangerous situation with her?"

The dwarf warrior stepped closer to Lyla.

"Seems she's not deservin' of someone like ye."

"Now hold on just—"

"No lad," Dwalin muttered, resting a hand on the surprised hobbit's shoulder, "No more of these lies and games. If ye care about the lass, then talk to her. I'll hear no more excuses from ye. Mahal knows how many you've spouted off the last few weeks."

With a gentle squeeze of his hand on her shoulder, Dwalin retreated quickly from the room, his shoulders taut and his movements rigid as he slammed the door behind him.

Leaving Lyla and Thorin to stare at one another.

"Durin help me," The dwarf king remarked rubbing his eyes tiredly, "Is there no one who will stand by me?"

He sent Lyla a rueful, but agitated, smile.

"Minx," he muttered, "So quick to garner the affections of the company. You've turned them all against me."

"I've done nothing of the sort," Lyla sniffed, glaring at the dwarf king, "And you should know that Dwalin is a rather smart dwarf. And he's right. You have to talk to me about this…whatever this is." She gestured to the air, wincing as she moved her tender wrist.

Thorin's face instantly soured, "Lyla—"

"No Thorin Oakenshield," The hobbit hissed, recognizing the tone in the dwarf's voice, "If you do trust me and care for me as much as you claim," She swallowed at the idea that he DIDN'T care about her, "Then talk to me. Don't keep pushing me away. I deserve to know what's going on, and why you haven't destroyed that ring yet."

"I can't," Thorin's voice was tired, as he sighed again, "It's…my father…blast it all, Lyla Baggins!" He glared at the hobbit, "It's not important. There are other things to attend to, no matter what Dwalin may think."

"Liar." Lyla retorted, "Why are you lying to me?"

"I can wager for the same reason you'd lie to me, Givashel," Thorin's gaze was dark, his eyes sparkling like sapphires as his ebony locks tumbled over his shoulders. "You are most certainly in no position to lecture me concerning my habits. I do as I please and I make decisions that will affect my people and my kingdom. I do not answer to you or Dwalin or anyone else."

"But you also made a promise did you not, Thorin?" Lyla's voice had raised as she tried to bury the stinging barb that Thorin's words had produced, "Did you not assure me that I am important to you?"

"So you'd manipulate me to tell you what you wish to know, but never divulge the truth?" Thorin was affronted, his face pinched into a glare, "You lie to me and expect the truth in return? I see the circles beneath your eyes, I see the haunted expression and I hear the choked mutters you whisper when you think no one is around!"

"You don't understand—"

"Oh do I not Givashel?" Thorin's anger had abated somewhat. He appeared to age efore the hobbit's eyes, the creases in his forehead deepening, the crinkles about his eyes becoming more apparent. Sighing deeply Thorin ran his hand through his tangled mass of hair. "I, more than anyone, understand what you suffer. And here now I come to find of a ring in your possession as well? Why did you not tell me of it?"

"Now that's not fair Thorin, I did tell you of it."

"But not that it was affecting you," Thorin snapped, "You kept THAT from me."

"It wasn't important," Lyla remarked, averting her eyes, knowing full well that she was mimicking Thorin's words.

"And how is that a valid argument?" The dwarf king retorted, "If I cannot use that excuse, why can you?"

"Because, oh king under the mountain," Lyla remarked straightening her shoulders, ignoring the hissing laughter in her ear. "You've made it clear how busy you are. Too busy to destroy a ring that Gandalf declared needed to be destroyed. Why would you have time for me?"

Instantly, a warm heat burned Lyla's neck and her eyes widened as her mind processed what she'd said.

Aule she hadn't mean to say _that. _

Lyla's heart dropped to her stomach as the dwarf king stopped, mouth opening slightly as he stared at the hobbit, his brows knit together as he searched Lyla's face.

He said nothing, only stared for a moment watching the hobbit carefully, his gaze sweeping over every feature, trying to decipher something.

It was all rather unnerving.

Then Thorin's hands balled into fists.

"You really believe that?" he murmured. His eyes were hooded, unreadable as he pursed his lips at her. "You really believe…Mahal why would you even consider that notion?"

"I—" She didn't want to answer him. Didn't want to admit it.

And this was NOT the conversation they were supposed to have!

"Mistress Boggins!" Kili's call rattled in Lyla's ears as the two dwarf princes barged through the door. Lyla turned towards the two who stood awkwardly in the doorway their gazes shifting between herself and Thorin.

The tension was palpable.

"Kili," Fili's command was soft as he tugged his brother's sleeve, "We should go."

"Are you alright Mistress Boggins?" Kili ignored his brother and stepped closer to the hobbit, "They didn't –"

"Answer me, Givashel," Thorin's tone had darkened, sounding almost strangled as he, too, took a step closer to Lyla, forcing Kili to halt.

Lyla swallowed back the squeak that had lodged in her throat and met Thorin's gaze, the constant thrumming of her heart ringing in her ears.

And the hissing laughter that echoed in the distance.

'He doesn't understand' the voice enticed, 'Doesn't believe that your feelings would be wounded. All those times you fought for him, cared for him and he cast you aside for a stone, for gold. And now? Now he's doing it again. He'll betray you again.'

"I…"

Her feelings were wounded?

He'd betray her again?

"Answer me."

Lyla could hear that Thorin's patience was waning. For the life of her though, she could not answer.

She didn't want to answer.

She was fine. It was all fine.

'Coward.' The voice sneered, 'Scared of who you are, of what you feel. Doesn't he deserve to know the pain and suffering he put you through? Doesn't he deserve your anger?'

No.

THAT was not how she felt!

Was it?

"I-I'm fine." Her voice was soft , unwavering, though even she didn't believe the words she spoke. Lyla could feel the cracks forming in her resolve, the emotions she'd kept at bay all these weeks beginning to flood to the surface.

"Out now," Thorin hissed to his nephews, barely glancing their way.

"Uncle, but…" Kili's voice had gone soft as he reached towards Thorin.

"Kili come on."

"OUT!"

He took another step towards Lyla as his nephews retreated from the room, the large oak door shutting firmly behind them.

Thorin stepped closer.

Lyla stepped back.

"Stop," She remarked, "Just, stop. I—"

"Confound it all!" Thorin bellowed, "Mahal help me if I hear you say that phrase one more time!"

Lyla's mouth snapped shut of its own accord as she stared at the enraged dwarf. A small vein was visible near Thorin's hairline as he glared at the hobbit, his eyes darkening, mouth pulled into a tight line.

"You are never to speak those words again," He nearly snarled, "Not now, not when they are but lies."

"Thorin—"

"YOU will be silent!" The dwarf thundered, "I've heard enough of these reassurances and deflections. You say that _I_ am not honest? You skulk about ignoring my questions, disobeying my commands for you to stay in one place. You cast me aside!"

"Thorin this isn't about me right now it's about—"

"I do not care about your blasted concerns about that ring or the arkenstone!" Thorin hissed, "You will listen to me, by Mahal you'll listen."

The dwarf started to pace again, his hands flexing agitatedly as his shoulders went rigid.

"You lecture me," he muttered, "You dare to lecture me on equality, on what is right and fair and honest, and yet you stand before me a hypocrite of the worst kind. Why did you lie to me?"

"Thorin this is—"

"Enough! You will answer."

'He does not care for your feelings,' the voice enticed, tickling Lyla's ear, 'he does not care for you or your concerns. He is using you to justify his own actions.'

"Tell me why you didn't destroy that ring," the hobbit countered.

"You know nothing of that ring or why I have not destroyed it yet. You know nothing of the world of politics and delegation. You know not the stress and strain it is to reconstruct a home. And you know nothing of the power a symbol can represent."

"I would if you would just tell me! I play a part in this! And Gandalf instructed you to destroy that ring. It is evil Thorin, can you not see that? Please, will you just talk to me? Tell me why?"

"And can you not see, little burglar, that the ring also represents my authority as King under the mountain? It is a symbol of my right to rule, a symbol of my heritage. It is the only thing left of my father and to destroy it now would entice discord."

"That's ridiculous!" Lyla snapped, "Utterly ridiculous. You cannot rely upon a trinket to define your character. Neither that ring or the arkenstone represents who you are!"

"And you cannot lecture me on what is proper in dwarven culture! The council will not see things the way you do, my people will not see your argument as valid! You are a hobbit. You know not what we find to be of value.

"Further, you, who has lied about the nature of the ring YOU carry, who ignores my commands and request, YOU cannot bid me to do things you, yourself will not do."

"I know I am just a hobbit," Lyla remarked trying to ignore the mocking laughter echoing in her ears.

"But I never lied about anything, Thorin. And I was never bid to destroy a ring."

The dam was breaking. Lyla could feel her temper rising at Thorin's accusations.

'He is falling back into madness.' The voice mocked gleefully. 'You will be alone.'

"You never told me of the pain it caused you! You refuse to discuss the nightmares you've had. After all we've been through you still do not trust me. Cast your burden on me, Lyla Baggins. Give me your ring and rid yourself of it. Tell me of your nightmares. Let me earn your trust back."

Lyla could hear the sincerity in his voice, even as her heart hammered against her ribs painfully, her palms beginning to sweat.

Give him the ring?

"This is not about my trust," Lyla fumbled for words, trying to distract Thorin from the path his thoughts had strayed, "I do not know of the ring that I carry. But YOU!" The hobbit thrust a finger into the dwarf king's chest, "You deflect my questions because you will not admit to your wrong doing in this matter. You kept it from me. How can I trust that?"

"I have done nothing I am ashamed of," Thorin remarked, a small streak of silver hair falling across his cheek as he glared down at Lyla, "And I do not answer to you or that fickle wizard. My affairs are my own. I am king under the mountain."

"You wish me to be honest?" Lyla growled, her ire rising. "You wish me to tell you why I…Do you not recall the madness that the gold caused?"

'Betrayer. Liar. Thief. That's all he sees you as. He will never forgive you. You are but a hobbit.'

Lyla could feel her eye twitching, her head pounding.

"That ring is evil, Thorin," She wasn't sure if she was talking about his ring or her own. "It will drive you back to madness, it will make you a miserable, angry selfish dwarf once more and you will cast aside your friends and loved ones for the cold metal beneath your mountain! You feign ignorance to what is before you. It will ruin you if you let it."

"I have protected you!" Thorin bellowed, "You've disregarded me, fought against my wishes and I've protected you from the suspicions of others. And you have so little faith in me! So little regard for my ability. You doubt me?"

"No Thorin, that's not it. That's not—"

Thorin sighed and growled lowly, "Now I understand," He muttered more to himself than her, "Now I understand you completely."

Thorin straightened his tunic and coat and retreated towards the door, his eyes steely with anger.

"We will not discuss the ring further. I will take care of it when and how I see fit."

Lyla's heart dropped, "Thorin you haven't to understand! You cannot do that. It needs to be destroyed!"

"Enough!" Thorin's gaze locked with Lyla's, "I have heard enough. The discussion is over. You are to go nowhere unescorted, Master Baggins," He muttered coldly, "You are not to leave your rooms unless someone is there to fetch you. I will brook no argument on the subject."

"You cannot just dictate what I can and cannot say Thorin Oakenshield!"

"I am king," The dwarf's voice was low, "I make the laws here. I govern the people and you will abide by my wishes."

"Thorin that ring will drive you back to madness."

"No more Halfling! ENOUGH!"

Lyla winced at the volume of Thorin's deep voice, the word 'halfling' wounding her pride considerably as she watched the enraged dwarf spin on his heel and march from her room, throwing open the heavy wooden door and shoving past Fili, Kili and Bofur as he escaped into the hall, never once glancing back at the shocked hobbit.

'You are nothing but a thief and a liar in his eyes. He will never trust you'

Lyla's eyes narrowed, a strange heat filled her belly, making her stomach churn as she watched Thorin retreat down the hall.

"By my beard!" Bofur remarked softly stepping into the room, his fingers reaching outward to grab hold of the hobbit, "What on earth did ye say to 'im lass?"

"Bebother and confound him," She muttered darkly as warm arms encircled her frame.

"Lass, he's just stressed is all," Bofur exclaimed as Lyla pulled back and began to pace her room, trying to quell the furious pounding in her head and the anger raging in her chest.

Eru help her, she was angry!

"He'll be right as rain soon enough and then he'll be beggin' for yer forgiveness before too long I'd wager," Bofur continued, adjusting one of his braids, "Right stubborn git he is, but he'll come 'round ye'll see."

But it was more than that. Lyla could feel it. It wasn't just annoyance and stress.

The whole conversation had rubbed Thorin the wrong way. There was so much that he wasn't telling her. The ring, the arkenstone. Why those people wanted it. What Gandalf wanted it destroyed. Yes, she could tell it was evil. But, why were others seeking it? For power?

And WHO was seeking it?

No this whole affair brooked an air of complexity, one far more dangerous than Thorin cared to admit.

And that was bad.

Very bad, indeed.

Lyla could feel it in her bones, the dread creeping through her veins, a shudder working its way up her spine.

'Baggins.'

'Baggins.'

"Lass?"

Lyla jerked back to the present and blinked a few times to settle her thoughts, noting that Bofur was staring at her with a worried expression, his eyes locked on her hands.

"What's that?" he questioned, tilting his head slightly as he leaned a bit closer to the hobbit.

Lyla cast her gaze down to where Bofur's eyes were trained and her own eyes widened in surprise and panic.

The little gold ring was in her hands. She'd been rolling the trinket between her fingers.

Aule…

"It's," she cleared her throat, "It's nothing, just a-just a ring."

With hammering heart, she hastily put the ring back in her pocket, willing the hammering in her chest to ease.

She cast a small smile at Bofur.

"It's nothing," she said again.

The miner watched her for a moment, gaze thoughtful.

But then he smiled, "Aye lass, I reckon it's not. And I reckon ye'll tell me when it is something then, aye?"

Lyla gave a soft smile in return, "Aye."

"Alright then!" Kili exclaimed hopping from Lyla's bed to stand, "I'd say it's time to go and get something to eat Mistress Boggins!"

"And maybe have Oin give you a draught to help you sleep tonight?" Fili questioned, squinting at the hobbit, "I'd wager you have a nasty headache about now."

"Aye that'll set ye up nicely, I'm guessin'" Bofur agreed, placing a hand on Lyla's shoulder, "And don't ye fret about the ruddy King under the Mountain. I'll not let 'im order ye about."

"No."

Bofur looked genuinely surprised at Lyla's response. He raise a brow at her.

"No Lass?"

Lyla shook her head lightly and sighed, "I mean no I-I'm not hungry right now."

It wasn't a lie.

Kili gazed at Lyla with wide eyes.

"Who ever heard of a hobbit who wasn't hungry? I thought your lot loved to eat?"

"Almost as much as dwarves, wasn't it?" Fili teased his eyes crinkling with mirth, "Though I don't think anyone could eat as much as Kili here."

"Oi take that back!" Kili retorted, "Anyway, you far out eat me any day."

The younger prince gave his brother a soft shove as and met Lyla's eyes.

"Come now and eat with us, little sister," He pled, "You'll feel better once you do."

Lyla shook her head again and rested her hand on Bofur's, "I'm really not hungry right now. I just need to rest is all. Get this headache to go away. Maybe I'll be hungry then."

'Liar.'

Bofur and Fili wore matching frowns as they assessed Lyla's expression, but eventually they nodded.

Kili looked disbelieving but seemed caught with no way to express how he felt.

But, he too, nodded.

"Alright then," Fili remarked, "But we'll be back in a few hours with something nice for you to eat, yes?"

Lyla nodded in agreement, her thoughts already whirring away from the notion of dinner and her companions.

She hoped, though, that Bofur was right.

She hoped that Thorin would come to his senses.

* * *

Three days he avoided her.

Three blasted days.

Three days of meetings, and excuses. Thorin used every trivial notion imaginable to avoid seeing Lyla or coming in contact with her.

Even the elves were avoiding her (and Thorin). Preparing to leave the mountain, Thranduil was tied up with assuring the safe passage of his kin back to the elven halls within Mirkwood. And with tension still running high between Elf and Dwarf kings, it was unlikely that the two would discuss matters with one another.

And all of it irked the hobbit greatly.

"Ruddy, blasted, stubborn-"

"Mutterin' are we lass?" Gloin pipped as he took a large bite of stew, ignoring the liquid the dribbled into his beard as he watched the hobbit. "I reckon' yer dinner not done anythin' to deserve such anger from you."

Dwalin snorted next to Lyla, "Aye but a certain dwarf king has, I wager." He clapped Lyla on the back gently, "And I'll be havin' a word with him soon enough on the matter."

"No, thank you, you certainly don't have to do that."

"Aye lass, I know that, but I'll do it all the same." The warrior dwarf graced Lyla with a soft, fleeting smile.

But the hobbit could see the worry written in his gaze and wondered what frightened Dwalin so much.

"We'll get this sorted," he muttered, returning to his stew, "Ye'll see lass. Now eat up, I reckon we'll be able te catch the dwarf before he leaves for his next meetin'."

Lyla nodded, butterflies swirling in her stomach as she picked at her steaming bowl of food, ignoring the worried glance Ori cast her way.

Ori, with his bruised eye healing nicely was flanked on either side by his older brothers, their faces stern and gruff as they ate in silence, casting their gazes around the large dining hall.

No one knew of the attack on the library, save the company members really. And Thorin had been determined to keep it that way. Though that didn't stop suspicion from rising among the hoards of warriors as word came that fire had erupted and a great portion of the maps and records had been lost in the blaze.

Lyla had never gotten to properly thank Ori for trying to protect her that night. She'd be kept under close watch since the incident, mostly confined to her rooms, as requested by the king under the mountain, with nothing but a single book to keep her occupied.

And by Aule was she irritated with being coddled.

Sending Ori a smile—one she hoped would convey her deepest gratitude—Lyla gently pushed her stew away from herself and, following Dwalin, excused herself from the table.

She wanted Thorin to listen.

She doubted, very much, though, that he would.

The hobbit and dwarf made their way slowly towards the entrance of the mountain, where Thorin was overseeing reconstruction before he returned to meetings in preparation for the envoys that would arrive in the coming months after the winter thaw.

Lyla could see his silhouette against the bright glow of torchlight and the large amount of dust. With dark hair gleaming, clad in a deep red tunic with sleeves rolled, the dwarf king stood, proudly, pointing to different portions of the shattered door and murmuring to another dwarf at his side.

Something halted Lyla's steps, a strange nervousness filled her chest as she watched Dwalin continue forward, casting a curious glance her way, though he continued on to greet Thorin.

"Thorin," Dwalin's voice was gruff and loud as he approached the King.

Said king sighed when he saw his warrior comrade come to meet him.

"Not now Dwalin," he muttered lowly, "I know what you would say but I cannot discuss this now."

"Three days ye've avoided her," Dwalin hissed, ignoring the curious stares of some of the workers, "Three days ye've refused to listen to reason."

"I don't need to be lectured by you right now," Thorin hissed, "And you are disrespecting my authority by coming here and demanding that I bow to your wishes, or to the wishes of…" Thorin trailed off with a huff his gaze sweeping over the area until it locked upon the hobbit's form near one of the pillars.

"I will not discuss this with you or anyone now," He muttered again, narrowing his eyes at Lyla, "Now get that woman out of here."

"Lad."

"That's an order," Thorin growled, "And to refuse would be treason."

Lyla had heard enough though and with renewed force her anger and annoyance ignited. Giving a slight nod to Dwalin, the hobbit retreated.

Confound that dwarf!

"Blasted, ruddy, selfish…!"

The hobbit marched towards the long, familiar hall to her chambers, her head buzzing with furious thoughts.

Curse and bebother him!

Slamming the door shut, Lyla stopped back towards the fireplace, her thoughts in a tumult, her heart hammering in her chest. She could feel the heat on her cheeks and the soft, warm salty tears pricking at her eyes.

She only cried when she was truly angry.

Wiping at her eyes agitatedly, Lyla stared into the crackling flames, her head buzzing with echoes of their argument, the insults, the lies.

He had no right to lie to her.

He promised. And Aule if he wouldn't…if he couldn't keep that promise and if he were hiding that ring, what's to say that he wouldn't fall into the same trap again, the same sickness?

She couldn't do it again.

Not that.

'But you never told him of the pain your ring caused' her mind supplied, 'Is that also not fair?'

"No," Lyla growled, pulling the ring from her pocket, running her hands over the smooth, cool metal, her head giving a slight twinge as she did so. "No," she murmured again, "That's not the point, though. He can't use me as an excuse for his bad behavior."

The ring seemed to hum in her hand as Lyla's anger continued to boil beneath the surface as Thorin's words spun circles in her head, replaying, stinging, and inciting more and more anger with each repeating phrase.

'You are but a hobbit. You do not know…'

She frowned at the ring in her hands. Her heart was racing, beating erratically in her chest. Her head felt muddled and the sudden urge to put the ring on her finger sparked in her thoughts.

'You could talk to him, sneak up on him and get him to listen if you but put it on' that familiar voice enticed sweetly.

Lyla's stomach coiled at the thought of putting that metal band back on her finger.

And yet…

Lyla's fingers twitched.

'Just for a short while. You can finally get that dwarf to listen. He'll be forced to listen. He'll finally understand.'

Lyla's stomach jumped as she rolled the band in her hand.

It was evil.

Wasn't it?

But it could help her.

It had once before. With Smaug.

Aule…

Turning the ring over in her hands, Lyla slowly brought the band to her finger on her left hand.

'You could convince him…' the voice hummed softly, 'Just for a moment. It won't take long.'

The metal slid easily onto her finger.

But immediately the hobbit regretted her decision.

Lyla's head and arm ignited in pain that sent her reeling backwards, stumbling into the small chair that was positioned near the fire. She gasped as images assaulted, images that she'd forgotten.

Images that she wanted to forget again.

The shadowy figure, how it had controlled Bolg.

Dark magic.

The Nazgul.

And then, the massive, red, lidless eye glared down on her as the hissing whispers intensified.

'I see you, little hobbit. You cannot hide.'

Lyla wrenched the ring from her finger, the pain still flaring in her arm as the world came back into sharp focus.

With a horrified cry, the hobbit cast the ring away from her, tossing it towards the fireplace.

She stood there panting, sweat trickling down her face as she stared at the ring being licked by the flames.

All her memories, at the images from the battle came flooding back, clear and crisp to her thoughts. All the horrors and the knowledge of the ring came flooding back.

Before she could stop herself, Lyla was making her way towards the fire, towards the ring. Carefully, she reached in with the poker and slowly brought the bright, gold trinket from the flames, setting the ring upon the ground at her feet.

She could feel the humming, hear the murmurs of the familiar voice.

And then…

Startled, the hobbit watched as the ring seemed to transform before her eyes. Gone were the smooth edges, replaced by bright red letters, some form of Elvish though she couldn't quite make it out.

Mystified and a bit ill at ease, Lyla leaned down and reached for the ring, her hands becoming clammy, her breathing quickening.

The metal was cool to the touch and slowly the hobbit lifted the ring upwards, gazing at the letters that shone bright as flame against the brilliant gold.

'That ring is evil.'

That shadow figure had wanted it, wanted her to bring it to him.

Scrambling backwards Lyla made her way to the bedside table where a book lay, marked with a slip of ribbon from where she'd left off reading.

Kili had brought it by at the behest of Thranduil.

A book of the creation of Middle Earth.

A book that discussed the creation of the rings.

Hastily Lyla flipped through the pages, searching for the right spot, hoping that she was wrong.

_Three were given to the elves, immortal, wisest and fairest above all other creatures._

_Seven to the dwarf lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls._

_And nine rings were gifted to the race of men, who above all else, desire power._

_In these rings was found the will and power to govern all races of Middle Earth. But, they were all of them deceived. For another ring was made. _

_In the land of Mordor in the fires of Mount Doom, the dark lord Sauron forged, in secret, a master ring, to control all others. And into this ring he poured his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life. One ring to rule them all. _

The hobbit continued reading, her heart dropping with each word on the page. Slowly the book slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor as she stared, unblinking, at the wall in front of her.

"A small golden band, perfectly ordinary," she mumbled reciting the words as she gazed back down towards the ring, the ring that had reverted back to its original state. "A secret that only fire can tell."

Lyla held the ring up to the firelight, gazing at the seemingly docile trinket.

Thranduil would not touch it. He'd given her THAT book to read.

Gandalf must have been suspicious of it.

The laughter.

The hissing.

The shadow figure.

The anger.

With a strangled gasp, Lyla brought her hand to her mouth, as she nearly lost what little dinner she had consumed.

The one ring.

Eru help her, she had the one ring.

Dropping the ring on the table, Lyla leaned away from the trinket, though she couldn't take her eyes off it.

How, in Aule's name, did she happen to stumble upon THIS?

A better question, though, was what was she going to do about it?

* * *

Thorin felt a twinge of guilt for what he'd done to Lyla, especially in so public a place.

It was more than a twinge really. An indescribable ache lanced him and he had to resist the urge to abandon his duties to seek the hobbit out, to make amends.

But he couldn't. Not yet. Not with eyes still spying on them, ears listening and questioning.

He sighed and stared at the map in his hands, finding it hard to concentrate on marking the appropriate adjustments for the gate and the outer lying pillars that were cracked from Smaug's monstrous presence within the mountain for so many years.

"Now, lad, would ye care to tell me what this is all about? And why I shouldn't ring yer royal neck fer that display earlier?"

Thorin cast a tired smile at Dwalin who stood in the doorway of Thorin's room, arms crossed, indignant glare on his face as he watched his king.

"I know what you will say but it had to be done Dwalin," Thorin remarked softly, tiredly. Mahal this was complicated.

"Oh aye ye just had to insult the lass didn't ye? Ignore her and then I insult her, disregard important matters for the sake of rebuilding a wall."

"No, Dwalin, it's not like that. Not at all."

Dwalin, though, was not listening.

"I saw ye after yer spat with her, I saw the anger. And then ye went down into the dungeon and you saw those men, saw them for what they were! You know what they're seekin' Thorin. Ye know what that ring will do to you and you ignore the issue."

"That's not true," Thorin remarked, rising slowly from his chair to face his friend, "I'm not ignoring the issue. I see what is before me."

"Oh aye," Dwalin stepped towards the king, his expression black with anger, "Ye cannot see beyond yer own desire. Ye are castin' her aside again, just as ye did with the ruddy arkenstone."

Another twinge of guilt.

"I'm not I swear it," Thorin hissed, softer, "Dwalin there is more to this whole affair than I can discuss."

"Ye've discussed nothin'!" Dwalin growled giving Thorin a shove, "And here ye thought ye could tell me that I'll be held fer treason? Aye lad, ye've lost yer mind to this mountain."

Thorin gave a firm shove in return, his ire rising, "I've not lost my mind to this mountain," He hissed lowly, giving Dwalin another push, back towards the door, "I've got sense enough to see the truth. I'm not making that mistake again."

Thorin ducked as a fist came towards him, and barreled into Dwalin's stomach to halt the dwarf.

"Yer a mad one, took us all for fools again. That gold is corruptin' ye. Ye can't see what yer doin'"

Another fist came towards Thorin, connecting with the dwarf's eye, making the king grunt as he brought his arms up to shield himself from the onslaught.

Thorin rammed his elbow into Dwalin's shoulder (the one that sported an old injury) and brought his knee to the dwarf's stomach, forcing the warrior to hunch over, gasping for air.

But then, arms encircled Thorin's legs and the king under the mountain was tipped backwards, landing with a solid 'thwack' against the hard floor.

"Listen…to…me" Thorin wheezed as he tried to regain his breath, "It isn't what you think."

He brought his arms up as he tried to push against Dwalin' hulking form, trying to force the dwarf off of him.

"Dwalin, stop!"

That was Balin's. Thorin registered the shocked surprise lacing the dwarf's words as he barged through the doorway and towards his brother.

His brother who landed another rather impressive punch on Thorin's jaw.

Balin, though, was a tough character and easily pulled his brother from atop Thorin.

"Lad ease off him!" He admonished his brother, keeping a firm grip on the snarling dwarf's forearm, "Yer not understanding what's going on."

"I understand perfectly," Dwalin hissed, his neck muscles bulging as he strained to move from Balin's grip. "I understand that he's consumed, losing his mind again. Soon we'll be at war with the elves and the men of Laketown."

"No," Balin remarked, "No we won't. Thorin's in his right mind. You have to understand…."

With an agitated sigh and a firm shove, Balin maneuvered his brother into a further corner and quickly kicked the door to Thorin's chambers shut, coming to stand between king and warrior.

"Now lad," He gestured to Thorin, "I think it best if ye tell my brother here just what ye've been up to."

* * *

It took several hours before she reached a decision. And Aule help her she hoped she wouldn't regret it.

The sparse torchlight cast long shadows down the hall, making her shiver as she adjusted the straps on her hastily packed bag. She'd braved the burning pain and the hissing laughter of the ring in order to retrieve the maps from the blackened library, and rations from the kitchen.

And now, with pack strapped to her back, as she crept through the silent, private halls of the royal wing, she imagined sinister faces, amongst the darkened corners.

Her steps felt heavy, and the weight around her neck seemed to grow, the harsh whispers making her head throb painfully.

She wanted to turn around, to return to her bed, and hide beneath the covers, like she had done as a faunt whenever a storm had gotten too loud, the thunder making her jump in fear.

She wanted to banish the nightmares away, thrust the images from her mind, refuse to accept what was happening.

But she knew that it could not be done.

She could not ignore this any longer, pretend like it didn't exist. She could not deny the truth. If she did…

Aule if she ignored this evil any longer, how might it hurt those she loved? The dwarves, already vulnerable to the enticing gold within their kingdom, would lose their senses completely with the ring of power in their possession.

No.

Thorin's face appeared in her mind's eye. The frustration he felt managing the mountain, the discord with the other delegates concerning HER presence at his side, the reconstruction, settling dealings with the elves, and Bard's men.

She was no use here. Lyla tended to cause more ire than ease at the moment.

No, she had something else to do.

The weight around her neck seemed to intensify, growing in strength and setting her heart ill at ease.

Lyla shook her head again and silently edged towards Thorin's bedchamber, careful to only open the door wide enough to allow her access.

She didn't want to wake him.

Like the burglar she had claimed to be all those months ago, the hobbit crept towards the bed and reached with hesitant fingers towards the table.

She paused though, and watched the steady rise and fall of Thorin's chest. His back was turned to her, the dark tendrils of hair splayed over his shoulder and cascading down to the pillow. Lyla smiled, a soft, pained smile, imagining the worry lines the dwarf king carried finally eased with sleep's gentle embrace.

The hobbit had the sinking feeling that this would be the last time she might ever see her dwarf and she relished the moment, committing every detail to memory. She didn't want to recall his angered face, his biting words.

No. No, this image was much more pleasing.

Then, with deft movements, Lyla snatched the trinket from the side of the bed and replaced it with one of her own.

Something, she was certain Thorin would appreciate.

And then, as silent as she was able, Lyla Baggins slipped from Thorin's room and made towards the seldom used pathway, hidden in a small alcove down from the king's chambers, and to the treasury and the tunnel that would lead to the fresh air and the night sky.

Thror's ring was clasped firmly in her palm as the ring of power hummed with a dark energy around her neck.

"I'm sorry Thorin" she murmured softly in the darkness, "so very sorry."


	5. Lonely Paths to Travel

**A/N: My goodness. To say that I'm blown away by the response to the last chapter can't even begin to describe how I feel right now. So many followers and comments and favs and I just...wow guys. I'm really humbled. I'm so glad you are liking this story so far. I know it's a bit confusing right now, but I promise there IS method to my madness. So stick with me!**

**I also apologize for how long it's taken to get this chapter up. I was sick the last few weeks and with the holiday madness it just sort of put a damper on everything. **

**I hope that you enjoy the chapter though and I'd love to hear from you. **

**Song Suggestion: Listen to 'Say Something' by A Great Big World. It's lovely. **

**"Home is behind, the world ahead,  
and there are many paths to tread  
through shadows to the edge of night,  
until the stars are all alight."-J.R.R. Tolkien**

Chapter 5:

The clouds hung low in the sky, glowing a brilliant peach and grey against the dark night, illuminating the entire valley below her feet .

These were snow clouds. Rich, billowing beacons of winter's firm grip, drifted slowly overhead, propelled by the biting wind that nipped at Lyla's cheeks, ruffled her hair, and flitted down her spine, making her shiver. In a way it was beautiful, the sky lit up by the clouds' dominating presence, casting a soft glow over ever rock and tree, making the already fallen snow sparkle in the dim light.

But the silence was unnerving.

She pulled the cloak—gifted by Thranduil all those weeks ago—about her person and gazed ahead, willing her feet to move as her heart hammered in her chest as she moved further from the mountain, her eyes darting about as she crept in the shadows, wary of any guards patrolling.

It was best not to alert anyone.

No matter how much she wanted to turn round and return to her warm bed, and the familiar faces of the company, she knew she could not.

Even the prospect of leaving the mountain and returning to The Shire seemed more appealing that what she was actually going to do. Familiar, rolling green hills, smials with carefully tended gardens, the party tree. All of it whispered to her, filling her with a longing, a longing for a familiar home. If she wasn't within the Erebor's glittering halls, she'd rather be nowhere than back in her own little Bag End, among her familiar forests and grass and books and maps.

But it could not be so. Even if she had intended to abandon Erebor for good in favor of the comforts of Hobbiton (a rather silly notion if she were honest), her current path was NOT taking her towards familiar roads.

Far from them, actually.

No, a far more sinister, and wearying road lay ahead of her.

'It is a fool's errand' the familiar hissing voice muttered in her ear, 'you are a fool.'

Lyla shook her head and continued onward, eyes scanning the horizon as she slipped past Dale's ruinous walls, careful to keep a wide birth of the city and any curious eyes, cresting the overlook and making her way carefully down the hillside as the first flakes of snow began to fall. Even though the pathway was still in tatters, stones still overturned and crumbled, signs of Bard's work were present. Life was beginning to return to the desolation that littered the hillsides and covered the city in ash and scorch marks.

There was improvement.

There was life.

With one last glance around at the valley and the Lonely Mountain, Lyla descended towards the shoreline of the lake.

With the world around her illuminated by the snow clouds as it was, Lyla made easy work of navigating through the underbrush and sapling trees, inching her way towards the far bank where Laketown used to be. She caught glimpses of the remains of homes and the dock, standing like blackened shadows on the still, icy lake and she shuddered to think of the dragon that lay beneath the surface.

Smaug had been the stuff of nightmares and Lyla was grateful to leave that image in the depths of the frigid water. And she was even more grateful when the shoreline widened and the expanse of the hillsides and forest began to loom closer as the sky started to turn pink, making the falling snow sparkle and the clouds grow in brilliance above her.

Dawn was approaching.

Dawn meant that she had little time to get further away from Thorin and the others before they discovered her disappearance (if they hadn't already). And she needed to get away, needed to avoid them.

She couldn't let them know of the ring and its true origins. It brought more harm than good.

'They will discover your treachery and hate you for it.'

Lyla shook her head again and let out a puff of air as she glared at t he small slope ahead of her.

It was familiar.

She was getting closer to Mirkwood.

'You are a liar. A thief and a liar. Thorin Oakenshield will never forgive you for this treachery.'

* * *

The air felt heavy in his lungs as Thorin came back to wakefulness. His mind was groggy, eyes bleary as he slowly let them slide open.

Even in the darkness, though, he could tell that something was amiss. Blinking a few times his eyes scanned the door, and the small stream of light peaking through the gap between the frame and the door.

Bolting upright, the dwarf king threw off his covers and tightened his hand around the dagger hidden beneath his pillow, his other hand reaching for Orcrist. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears as his eyes narrowed at the doorway.

He never left his door open. Even though the royal wing was closed off from prying eyes, and the members of the company resided in this wing, Thorin valued his privacy.

So why was the door ajar?

With fingers wrapped tightly around each weapon Thorin crept silently towards the door, suspicion flaring as he was met with nothing but silence.

'Odd,' he thought, taking a deep breath, his shoulders tensing. He wanted to leave nothing to chance.

With a swift push, he propelled the door open, his weapons raised slightly as he scanned around, prepared to defend himself from an onslaught.

His adrenaline turned to surprise as he met with empty space. A silent hallway, vacant, devoid of any soul greeted Thorin.

Mahal, what was going on?

There was nothing. Silence reigned. No shadows crept, no movement or whispers.

Nothing.

Thorin's chest felt tight as his eyes drifted back towards his bedroom, the soft torchlight cutting a soft glow across the floor and towards his bed. His hands became slick with sweat as his eyes zeroed in on the small table near his bedside.

And the items upon it.

"No."

* * *

It was the sound of something crashing against the wall, that drew Dwalin's attention down the hallway, his footsteps navigating towards a familiar room. He'd been there many times before.

Another crash and a slew of curses filled the air as he drew near the door, his curiosity and suspicion piqued.

Not bothering to knock, as the sound of something shattering resounded against the wall, Dwalin edged the door open and stared in shock at the sight before him.

Thorin, king under the mountain,mightiest of the dwarf lords of Middle Earth, was tearing his room apart, his face pinched into a terrified and enraged expression. With shaking hands and gritted teeth, he growled and tossed another chair at the wall, more curses falling from his lips.

"What is Durin's name are ye doin'? " Dwalin's voice was low, betraying his confusion, "I know that we're not—"

"She's gone."

Thorin had stilled, his voice ragged and raw as his shoulders tensed, fists clenching and unclenching, pent up anger evident in his movements.

Dwalin's eyes widened as a small sliver of panic began to blossom in his chest. Normally, he could put off such feelings, erase such notions. He was a warrior.

But the thought of that little lass…

"Gone?" he queried, his stomach giving a funny leap, "How could she have gone anywhere? Ye've kept her under constant watch, how—"

"I know!" Thorin thundered, his engraged visage whipping around to scowl at his friend, "You don't think I know that? You don't think that I understand? But how she could…"

He trailed off his voice choking as he growled again.

"Why would she do this?!" He snarled, ripping the blanket from his bed, "Why would she…"

Dwalin was confused. "HOW did she do it then?" He questioned, his mind twisting, searching for ways that their little burglar could have slipped past them as dread filled him. "How did she manage to do it?"

"Mahal I don't know!" Thorin snapped, "I don't know how she did it. But we have to find her."

Thorin's gaze drifted to the only untouched piece of furniture in the room, his night table. The warrior's eyes drooped in realization at the contents on the table and his heart lurched painfully.

"She didn't." He murmured, stepping closer to Thorin, "She wouldn't."

Even as he spoke those words, Dwalin knew they weren't true. Sure as the beard on his face, he knew. But, by Durin, how he wished they were.

"She did," Thorin remarked softly, his voice pained, as he reached for the small bead and lock of golden hair sitting on the nightstand. "Mahal help me, of course she did. She took the ring."

The king let out a low, bitter laugh as his fingers closed around the bead and lock of hair, his head bent low. The laughter turned into a soft growl as the king slammed his fist against the thick wood of the table.

His head whipped around and he glare at Dwalin, his eyes bright and narrowed.

"We have to find her," He murmured again, striding towards the door, "We have to reach her before she gets too far, bring her back."

Dwalin, though, stopped the king's movements, his hand coming to rest on the dwarf's shoulder.

"Lad, if she didn't know, and she's taken that ring out of the kingdom you know that she'll be held as a—"

"Of course she didn't know!" Thorin snarled, stepping backwards, "And Durin help me I don't want that happening. What was she thinking? How could she have done this!"

"For the same reason I wager ye've kept things from her," Dwalin muttered, with a frown, "Both of you are right stubborn and foolish."

"I did it to protect her and she—"

Dwalin tightened his grip on Thorin's shoulder, "And she did the same fer you," He remarked lowly, "She's as stubborn as any dwarf, ye know that."

"She's a fool," Thorin growled, pulling back, his fist still tightly clasped around the bead and hair, "She's a fool for taking that ring, for leaving."

Dwalin's eyes narrowed, "Aye lad, and ye are a fool for not talkin' to her about it all. Yer both proud and stubborn and lonely and hard headed and I'm sick of it all. But right now?" Dwalin huffed, "Now we just need te find the lass and be done with this whole mess. Tell her of the rituals, tell her of the symbols, tell her of the plots, tell her of all of it. Once we find her."

It was true. Dwalin didn't like to admit just how much Lyla reminded him of Dis and Thorin. He hated the loneliness he saw in her eyes, hated the way she pushed people out. He'd seen how it affected her, seen how it affected Thorin. The two of them were so similar in that respect. He knew it was in their nature.

But he knew as sure as he was breathing that they both needed to move past that.

If he could just convince the two of them to see it.

Marching after Thorin, Dwalin watched the way the king walked, his posture rigid, head held high. But Dwalin also noticed the slight tremor in the king's hand as he reached for the door handle to their hobbit's room, the lock clicking as the knob was turned, door sliding easily open.

The room still smelled of smoke, though the flames had long since died into smoldering embers. The room itself was cast in darkness, but Dwalin could see the way the bed lay untouched, the only signs someone had been there evidenced in the scattered papers upon the small table near the chair that sat by the fire. Other than that, Lyla's meager belongings were missing, and neither hide nor hair of the hobbit was visible to the battle-worn dwarf.

But where had she gone.

Thorin didn't waste time, peering at the contents of the room, walking briskly towards the bed and examining the small table that sat beside it. The king's gaze then turned towards Lyla's small little sitting area, with the papers and books stacked upon the small table that was nestled next to the chair there.

Dwalin approached the fireplace and kicked the embers back to life, throwing another small log upon the glowing cinders, coaxing flames to flicker forth. A steady warmth began to permeate the room, the fire casting a growing glow about the chamber, making it easier to decipher the contents of the table.

The warrior shifted closer to the chair and peered down at the contents Thorin was rifling through on the table. He noted, with a small swell of alarm, the charred remnants of maps, obvious taken from the library. WHEN she had acquired such articles baffled the dwarf.

But a map did make sense, after all. If she planned to leave, she'd need a map to navigate herself towards her destination.

Aside from that, however, there were a few stacks of papers and a small quill and ink pot that Ori had acquired for her a few weeks back. Hardly anything that suggested a motive to her disappearance or a hint at her whereabouts.

And then he took stock of her books. Three books sat, neatly stack on the table, two were small copies of the histories of the dwarves of Erebor, written in Westron and (obviously) stored in the kingdom's library for preservation purposes.

The other?

The other was different from the first two and it was this tome that Thorin picked up slowly. Thicker than the previous volumes and bound with a soft green outer covering, intricately decorated with small leaflets and vines, Thorin ran his hand slowly over the cover of the book, a hiss escaping his lips as he brushed over the letterings, etched in gold, on the cover.

The dwarf king caught Dwalin's eye, his anger burning brightly as he clutched the book closer to himself.

"Elves," he muttered, his blue eyes sparkling in fury.

And then he was off, tearing through the room like lightning, his pace as loud as the clapping thunder as he raced down the hall, towards (Dwalin was certain) the king of Mirkwood resided.

Past the glittering treasure hoard they moved, Thorin completely ignoring the beckoning sparkle of gems, towards the lower halls and the encampment of elves that still resided in the mountain.

The dwarf king ignored the curious glances of the guards that still sat out, and made his way down hall, throwing Thranduil's door open with one swift movement.

The large, oak door gave a might 'Bang' as it slammed against the wall.

The book fell from the dwarf's grasp and then Thorin was moving, his hands reaching outward to grasp Thranduil's shoulders as he brought the elf against the wall, his eyes blazing up at the Mirkwood king.

"Where is she?" He snarled, as Legolas and Tauriel moved towards their king, their cries of outrage echoing in Dwalin's ears.

"Where is she?!" Thorin demanded again, giving Thranduil a hard shove against the wall, the elf's blonde hair whipping around his shoulders from the force of the hit.

However, despite his position, and the obvious malice lacing Thorin's tone, the elf king appeared completely unperturbed by the whole affair. He watched Thorin through hooded eyes, his face completely neutral, arms slack, subjecting himself to dwarf's onslaught of anger without a hint of retaliation brewing beneath his stoic façade.

Legolas and Tauriel, however, were in far more aggressive attitudes and lunged for the dwarf king, pulling Thorin away from Thranduil, despite the dwarf's firm stance and strong grip on Thranduil's form.

"Tell me where she is!" The king hissed again as Dwalin moved forward trying to pry Legolas away from Thorin.

"Move off!" He bellowed to the elf prince, giving the blonde archer a firm shove, a snarl tearing from his throat as his protective nature flared. "Let 'im go!"

But Tauriel was there as well and lithely managed to propel Dwalin backwards with a firm jab to Dwalin's chest, away from Legolas and Thorin, much to the warrior's surprise.

And then a small, ornate blade was at his throat, vibrant green, glittering eyes narrowed down upon him, a sea of brilliant red hair framing the elf's pointed, delicate looking face.

"Move and I'll cut your throat, dwarf," She murmured, her voice dangerously low.

Dwalin had the good sense to stop his struggles. He didn't doubt the sincerity of Tauriel's words.

"I did nothing," Thranduil remarked softly, brows knit together as he straightened to his full height and dusted his sleeves off, "I do not know where your hobbit might be."

"That book," Thorin spat, his eyes straying to the discarded item bound pages crumpled on the floor, "Did not come from the library of Erebor."

Thranduil raised a brow as he sidestepped the struggling dwarf king and crouched down to examine the overturned books carefully, his blue eyes narrowing and lips pursing as he gently grasped the green cover and lifted the book.

Straightening slowly, the elf king's eyes locked with Thorin's, his hands smoothing the pages and closing the fragile looking book.

"I do not have your hobbit, nor do I know where she might be," The elf king finally confided, his tone dismissive in nature.

"But you gave her the book?" Dwalin remarked, his feelings concerning the newly formed alliance between the elves and dwarves tossed into upheaval.

"This book," Thranduil remarked, "Came from Rivendell. A stowaway, two elf princes brought along, no doubt at the request of their father, Lord Elrond."

"And why did Lyla have it?" Thorin snarled, his teeth bared, a look of utter contempt on his face as he tugged against Legolas' firm grip, "Why did she have it in her room?"

"Probably because I gave it to her," Thranduil remarked flippantly, beginning to pace the room slowly, his gaze scanning the room about him. "You've hardly begun to build your mountain back and already you are faced with obstacle and discord. Your people waiver, your closest relation betrays you," His gaze returned to Thorin, "And your lover? She doesn't trust you enough to confide in you."

The elf king smirked. "What a pity. Though, I suppose it really doesn't come as a surprise, since you would not confide in her." He resumed his pacing, "Tell me, Master Oakenshield, did she know of your scheme to lure your betrayers out, using her as bait?"

Thorin's contemptuous glare was answer enough for the elf king who only smirked as he continued pacing.

"You see that's the difference between you and I, Master Oakenshield. I have nothing to hide, whereas you try to bury all your family secrets beneath this mountain." Again Thranduil stilled, eyes hooded as he stepped closer to Thorin, "That ring is evil. It was forged for the line of Durin and has brought nothing but corruption and greed. If the enemy gets that ring, it could spell disaster for your entire race. It must be destroyed."

"It was a cultural symbol of my people, of my bloodline," Thorin retorted softly, his eyes narrowed, "It is not as simple as you might think, Master elf. My people value such symbols and to destroy one would only fuel the fire of contentions. I couldn't risk further harm to Lyla by doing that. I had to plan it, deal with the plots and betrayals and SHOW my people the true nature of the ring!"

"And yet," Thranduil tutted softly, "yet you still told her nothing and now she is gone."

"Yes." Thorin had stiffened, his voice clipped and eyes narrowing on the elf. "I tried to protect her. I only did what I thought was best."

"You are a fool, Thorin Oakenshield," Thranduil remarked with a wave of his hand, "A fool to think that she would be any safer not knowing of the plots and the schemes and the contentions. And a fool for thinking she wasn't capable of figuring things out for herself."

Thorin's eyes widened and then narrowed again, "You gave her the book to provoke her departure," His tone was accusing, "You gave her that book to assist in her discovery of what's been happening."

Thranduil snorted softly, "Hardly. I had no need to inform her of such trifling things. She's a smart creature, far smarter than you give her credit. She could see what was before her. And while those books certainly become useful for discovering such knowledge, I did not give them to her for that purpose. A far greater matter resides on your hobbit's shoulders, Thorin Oakenshield, yet you did not have the wit to see it."

The elf king stopped, a thoughtful expression pulling on his features.

"Or perhaps," The elf's voice was flat, devoid of any emotion, "Perhaps you did not want to see it."

"You know nothing!" Thorin managed to pull from Legolas' grip, coming to stand toe to toe with Thranduil. "You know nothing of what has happened, nothing of what I know and nothing of my people. But I wouldn't expect Thranduil, king of Mirkwood to step from his own limited culture and recognize the diversity of other races. I've seen how you treat your friends! You, who lacked all honor and only now have come to your senses! You cannot lecture me on my decisions!"

Thranduil's eyes flashed as he stepped closer to Thorin.

"Do not speak to me of honor," He hissed, "I have seen more of this world than you could ever hope. I have see pain and death. I have seen evil cover the earth with its dark shadow. I have fought for the freedom of all of Arda! I have felt dragon fire and the sting of the sword."

Dwalin's eyes widened as he watched the elf king's features contort into a look of anguish, brows pulled together, eyes squeezing shut as skin began to melt away on the left side of his face, exposing mottled flesh, burns, scars and contusions that would never heal.

The elfs's eyes flew open and he stared back at Thorin, his left eye a milky white in contrast to the glittering blue both dwarves were used to.

"Much more is at stake than your precious mountain. Your people will fall. Death and ruin will come to all of us. Evil moves Thorin Oakenshield and your hobbit's disappearance only confirms my suspicions."

And, with whatever magic the elves possessed to do so, the careful mask returned to Thranduil's features, melding flesh together, sealing all imperfections behind a façade, so that the stoic king stood, unblemished before his audience once more.

"What do you mean?" Thorin's tone was low, controlled, barely veiling the malice he held for the elf king, "I don't care for your personal woes, Thranduil son of Oropher. What do you mean of Lyla's disappearance? You think she's involved with the enemy?"

Thranduil quirked a brow at Thorin. "Hardly," He remarked softly, "She wouldn't have risked her life for someone like you if she were in league with the enemy. I mean, Thorin Oakenshield, what do you know of her ring, of its origins and power?"

Thorin's silent, glaring form was enough of an answer for the elf king.

"I see," he remarked, "She didn't trust you to tell you the truth."

"That is none of your concern," Thorin snarled.

"But it is," Thranduil cut in, a glare marring his features, "Your…distraction with the mountain and the petty game you're playing with the enemy here has blinded you from seeing the bigger picture. Your hobbit plays a crucial role in the welfare of not only YOUR people, but all of the Middle Earth. She left, I suspect, to spare you from such knowledge. She left to protect you. "

In that moment Thranduil's face took on a new expression, one Dwalin had never seen the elf wear. He looked resigned, almost pained and weary, his eyes betraying how much this conversation seemed to age him.

"Your hobbit, Thorin Oakenshield, carries the one ring. She is making her way to Mordor."

* * *

Lyla stilled, her heart hammering as she strained her ears to listen.

She could have sworn she'd heard something snap.

Another small noise resounded behind her and Lyla was scurrying, up the hill through the trees as the sun began to peak over the mountain casting a warmth on Lyla's back.

Everything had been silent until that point and Lyla half wondered if what she heard had been a bird or small animal coming out in the morning hours.

But she'd seen no movement, heard no chirping.

A louder crash resounded in the silence as twigs snapped and buckled from an unknown force.

Lyla began to dash as fast as her tired legs would carry her, through the trees, weaving in and out of the low bushes and the snow covered rocks.

And then she heard an ear-piercing screech, one that set her arm burning, pain lancing through her fingers.

Lyla chanced a glance behind her and saw a hooded creature, seated atop a black, monstrous stallion a few hundred yards behind her, barreling through the underbrush towards the hobbit.

Her heart dropped to her toes as she recognized that hooded figure.

How could she forget it now?

She stumbled as another crash burst through behind her, sending a spray of rocks and twigs overhead and let out a cry of surprise as the ground at the top of the hill suddenly ended, the hill sloping downward into a steep drop that curved into the icy river that had originally led out of Mirkwood and towards Laketown.

Another loud screeching hiss sent the hobbit's gaze back towards the oncoming specter and she noted, with horrified clarity that there were two other black riders coming towards her, knocking the smaller trees down as they edged closer, the snorts and whinnies of the horses as they worked up the hill towards the hobbit.

Lyla could hear laughter echoing in her ears as the weight of the rings about her neck seemed to grow and the longing to put the small golden band on her finger intensified.

'It would be so easy. So very, very easy.'

As she watched the horses traipse forward, their hooded riders, hissing and screeching, Lyla could feel her hand begin to drift towards her neck reaching for the clasp on her necklace.

"Mistress Boggins!"

An arrow was released as Kili charged from the left, at the bottom of the sloping hill, another arrow loaded and fired from his bow. Fili was close behind, sword drawn and dagger poised at one of the balck riders.

Lyla's eyes widened as Bofur charged forward from her right, mattock raised to block a blow from the long sword that one of the specters had brought down to strike at Fili with.

"Oi, ye'll not touch her ye ruddy screech owl!" Bofur growled placing a strike upon the horse's leg, sending the beast rearing backwards, the rider nearly unseated.

What sent Lyla's heart hammering in surprise, however, was the appearance of another man. Clad in a dirty grey cloak, this man charged at the black figures with a loud battle cry, his sword drawn and a torch in his other hand. With his dark hair whipping about his ears, the man pivoted and caught another of the hooded creatures' horses, nicking the beast's flank and sending it into a pained back trot as it bucked and maneuvered, trying to get away from the onslaught of flame and sword.

Fili appeared by the man's side, his dagger coming to slice at the third specter's arm, forcing a loud, screech from the hooded creatures lips, making Lyla's arm pulse painfully.

"Mistress Boggins!" Kili was suddenly beside her, crushing her frame in a warm hug, "Mahal am I glad you're okay!" He crowed, a smile lighting his features before he notched another arrow in his bow.

"Kili?!"

To say that she was surprised was an understatement.

With narrowed eyes, he released the arrow and it soared, landing with a sickening tear, into one of the creatures' arms, forcing the hooded warrior to drop its weapon.

"And who else would it be?" he remarked with a grin, steadying yet another of his arrows in his hands.

Fili was knocked backwards as one of the horses reared, his dagger knocked from his hands as he landed awkwardly upon the hillside.

Lyla was moving towards the dwarf prince before her mind registered what her feet were doing. But Kili was right beside her, his cry of rage ringing in the hobbit's ears as he notched yet another arrow into his bow and released, this one nicking the horse's ear.

"Stay back!" The dark haired man called towards Lyla and Kili. His voice was harsh and commanding, the glare in his pale eyes focused on Lyla, "Do not come closer," He admonished.

And then he returned to the fight, stepping between Fili and the horse riding specter. With precise and fluid movements, the man brought his sword upward and met the hooded creature's assault, the strength of his blow forcing the rider and his horse to move back, further away from Lyla and the others. At the same time, Bofur's onslaught of attacks, giant mattock in hand, created a wider barrier between the dwarves, man and hobbit and their would-be attackers.

The man, with sword and torch pointed at the specter, slowly edged backwards, moving up the hill as Fili scrambled to his feet and moved to Lyla's side, his hand coming to wrap around her arm in a tight grip that bordered on painful. Bofur, too, was edging backwards, his mattock perched in his hands prepared to strike at anything that advanced on him.

"Move back," The man commanded, shooting Lyla and the others a stern look, the stubble on his chin shining with sweat.

"Now!" he commanded, his torch and sword still aimed towards the hooded creatures. "And be ready on my mark!"

Lyla's gaze shifted from watching the man and towards the hooded creatures.

Her stomach lurched painfully as she realized that two more specters had appeared and were making their way quickly towards the hobbit and her friends.

"Do you know how to swim?" The man's voice was low in her ear as he dropped his torch and grabbed at the arm that Fili was not holding.

Lyla's gaze flicked back to the man, her startled eyes meeting his determined ones as he frowned at her.

"I-"

Swim? A hobbit?

"Do you know how to swim?" He murmured again, his voice a bit more strained as he gently tugged her backwards.

"No."

The man nodded once, releasing his grip long enough to sheath his sword.

"Don't panic," he remarked quietly.

And then his grip on her arm returned and he whipped the hobbit around, wrenching her out of Fili's grasp.

Lyla's scream caught in her throat as the man shoved her backwards.

She felt the air rush past her as she plummeted off the cliff and towards the river below.


	6. The Dungeons and The Celduin

**A/N: ****I am so very sorry that it has taken so long for me to get this chapter up. I was finishing up another application for Graduate school. I had to revise and edit a paper and make it LONGER than it was in order to qualify it as a writing sample. It was a bit exhausting to say the least.**

**However, I really am sorry about the delay in this chapter. Here's hoping the next chapters won't take as long. And I sincerely hope you enjoy this read. It's been a bit difficult of a write for me and I'm not entirely sure I'm pleased with the outcome of this chapter in particular.**

**And can I thank you all enough for all the lovely comments and favorites and follows for this story and my other? Seriously. It's amazing. Thank you so much for brightening my days with your comments and enjoyment of this story! It is most appreciated. **

**"Home is behind, the world ahead,  
and there are many paths to tread  
through shadows to the edge of night,  
until the stars are all alight."-J.R.R. Tolkien**

**Chapter 6:**

Thorin paced Lyla's room. His fingers twitched agitatedly and he resisted the urge to run his hands through his hair again.

He was fighting the impulse to tear the hobbit's room apart in his anger.

He wanted to leave the mountain, go after her.

Something.

Anything.

Lyla was out there, out in the wilderness wandering with a ring of power (THE ring of power) towards Mordor. Worse, though, she'd taken the ring of power and his grandfather's ring to destroy them.

She didn't tell him a blasted thing.

And it was his fault.

After all the promises that he'd made to the hobbit, all the things he's assured her of, he was here, and she was alone, gone. He's failed her, pushed her away, suggested that she wasn't important to him, as a ruse, yes, but Lyla hadn't known that. There'd never been a safe time to tell her.

He'd let himself down. He'd wanted to protect her from the usurpers. After the attack, he wanted to ensure her safety, somehow.

Yes, he realized now how big of a mistake it was. But all he'd wanted was to protect her.

Now he had failed her. He'd let _her _down

Mahal…

Unbidden, the image of his Givashel lying in the mud, unmoving sprang from his memory. He couldn't deny the way his heart constricted at the thought and couldn't hold back the grimace that twisted on his face.

"It is not the time for self loathing to enter your thoughts, Thorin Oakenshield."

The dwarf king sighed and shot a glare towards the doorway.

"Have you come to patronize me, elf?" He growled, "you do you have something important to relay?"

"My presence here is always important, Master Oakenshield," Thranduil replied unperturbed by Thorin's frosty behavior, "And I never patronize, as you call it, without just cause."

Thorin raised his brow, unamused and annoyed.

This was hardly the time for such flippant behavior.

"But yes," The elf remarked, "I have important news for you."

Thorin nodded his head in understanding. The elf king didn't need to explain his news further.

The dwarf understood.

He understood perfectly.

He followed the elf king from Lyla's room and down the stairs, towards cellars and the dungeons.

Balin was near the entrance when they arrived, but his face was grim, his white brows knit together in worry as he eyed Thorin carefully.

"In truth lad," He remarked as Thorin came closer, "I do not know that you will convince him to come to his senses. He is raving mad. Andd we can't get any information from him. He will not tell us anything."

"That will not be a problem for me, master dwarf," Thranduil murmured, "There is more he can tell me."

Brushing past the surprised dwarf, Thranduil marched down the winding staircase and into the dark.

Thorin and Balin hastened after him, curiosity piqued.

"You are not yourself, Dain Ironfoot," Thranduil remarked, stepping towards the cell, his face contorted into a cool mask of disinterest. "But it does not have to be that way."

Dain, for his part though, only laughed. His voice was hoarse, and Thorin inwardly winced at the state of dishevelment his cousin was in. Hair mussed, braids undone, clothes dirty and unkempt.

No dwarf would look like that if they could help it.

Dain's eyes locked with Thorin's and his grin widened.

"Ah, cousin," He crooned softly, "Come at last to see me, have you? Tell me, where is your Halfling? Taken your treasures and run has she?"

"It is hardly important," Thranduil cut in with the wave of his hand, dismissing Dain's words with little care. "What I find interesting is _your _presence in this mountain and your motivations for being here."

The elf king caught Dain's narrowed glare raised a brow in challenge.

"Some, like your cousin maybe believe that a noble quest was at hand when you arrived, that your design in coming to the mountain was simply to aid your kin, to protect and help reclaim a homeland."

Thranduil shot Thorin a warning look as he passed by, his expression conveying the need for silence.

The dwarf king begrudgingly remained silent, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from growling annoyance at Thranduil's behavior.

"I, myself, however, suspect a more prosaic motive," The elf continued stopping to stand before Dain, "Attempted burglary or something of that ilk. You sought and still seek the king's jewel, the arkenstone."

Thorin's gaze shifted towards Dain and he watched, fascinated, as the dwarf's face darkened. He scowled at Thranduil.

"And what would a lowly elf know of the affairs of dwarves?" Dain spat slowly rising to his feet, "You, who lack all honor! Who betrayed my cousin, and my people, turning blind eye to the suffering of those displaced by dragon fire. Who are you to challenge my motivations?"

"Oh I know plenty. Far more than you can imagine, I wager." Thranduil continued, his gaze locked with Dain's, "I suspect your motives and your alliance stretch to far darker regions, that you align yourself with an ancient enemy, one bent on destroying all the kingdoms before it. To cover all the lands in a second darkness. _THAT, _Master Ironfoot, is why you have come. It you who lacks honor, here. Though, I suspect, not of your own volition."

Dain laughed, a bitter, cold laugh, his eyes widening as he turned his head towards Thorin.

"And you believe this nonsense, cousin?" He admonished the dwarf king, "Consulting with elves now are we? After all those years, after all that betrayal, you feel as though you can trust Thranduil, king of Mirkwood? And that hobbit? They were in it all together, plotting against you from the beginning. She gave the arkenstone to that filth," Dain thrust an accusing finger towards Thranduil, "She disobeyed your orders and your trust and you'd cast me aside in favor of those two?"

"You know nothing!" Thorin snarled stepping forward, fury coursing through his veins at Dain's accusations.

How dare he!

"You know nothing of her, nothing of her designs. Do not sully Lyla Baggins' good name with your lies."

"It is not I who knows nothing cousin!" Dain remarked lowly, a malicious glint in his eye, "You know nothing. Nothing of pain or torture. Your world will burn. You, oh king under the mountain, will bring ruin to your people and all who stand to protect this land. The Lord of Silver fountains! Ha."

"Such is the nature of evil," Thranduil murmured, "Out there in the vast ignorance of the world it festers and spreads. A shadow that lurks in the dark. A sleepless malice that is as black as the oncoming wall of night. So it ever was, so will it always be. In time, all foul things come forth." He glared down at Dain, "But here in this kingdom, we will endure. Dwarves, men and elves. Old alliances are coming forth once more, reforming, rebuilding. And that hobbit's presence on the quest to Erebor was as a small stone starting an avalanche. It cannot be stopped. Not by you, oh powerful wizard of darkness."

With one swift movement, Thranduil wrapped his fingers around the front of Dain's tattered tunic and tugged the dwarf against the bars.

Surprised at the elf's actions, Thorin stepped forward, a cry escaping his lips.

"Stay back," Thranduil hissed, his voice icy, tugging harder on the dwarf's shirt, pressing the protesting creature's arms taut against the metal bars of the cell. "I know this power, this evil. No more shall it fester here."

Shocked, Thorin did, indeed, take a step back as a strange feelings settled over him. A heavy weight seemed to fill the air and for a minute, Thranduil, king of Mirkwood looked truly terrifying with his pale features and hair, surrounding him like a halo, blue eyes narrowed in a determined scowl as he held fast to Dain's tunic.

"A si i-Dhúath ú-orthor, Dain. Ú or le a ú or nin!"

A shockwave seemed to travel through Thorin, making his fingers tingle, his muscles ache.

Dain slumped forward, his legs buckling beneath him as his head rolled back, tangled clumps of hair covering his face. His arms slackened and a wheezing sigh escaped his mouth.

Thranduil released his hold on the dwarf and watched, with hooded eyes, as Dain toppled backwards, to the ground.

"Come," He turned towards Thorin and Balin, "He will not awaken for several hours and I cannot guarantee that what I've done has worked completely. The hold on him is strong."

The elf king locked eyes with Thorin's confused ones.

"What-what hold? Who was controlling him?" Balin ventured quietly.

"We have not time for this, Master Balin," Thranduil remarked, "We must prepare for the wizard's arrival."

"The wizard?" Thorin echoed, "When? And more importantly, what are you speaking of?"

Thranduil sighed, "I keep forgetting your ignorance to this plan," The elf smirked at the word 'ignorance' "So caught in your own affairs were you that you neglected certain…events going on around you. Master Balin?"

Thorin turned towards Balin, his surprise and suspicion written in his features as he stared at his closest companion.

Balin? Truly?

Did no one think it wise to inform him of what was happening in his blasted mountain?!

Balin, for his part, looked remorseful.

"Aye lad," he hummed softly, "I did know a bit of Thranduil's doings around the mountain and the onslaught of unrest within the halls, though I know nothin' about the wizard's return."

"Or the arkentstone," Thranduil remarked, turning back to Thorin, "Only you know of that information, Master Oakenshield. Only you know if it's true importance and it's high time that we set our minds together to get out of this mess we're in. An army will be marching again towards this mountain and we do not have time to contend against usurpers. We must prepare for war."

"I will not wait!" Thorin thundered, his face twisting into a snarl, "It is an absurd notion. I've waited long enough, gone along with your plans and this is MY mountain, my home. I make the laws here. I am king! And you would have me wait here for a wizard who may or may not appear and a war that we are not certain will happen?"

"You would be a fool to leave now," Thranduil's voice was soft, but brooked not argument, "It would be an unwise move to abandon your home now, when so many cracks still fester and spread within your halls. You know what goes on here. You know what will be at stake."

"I don't care!" Thorin hissed, "I will not risk any more harm on…"

He trailed off, his hands balling into fists.

"I cannot leave her out there alone, wandering the wilderness without a weapon or protection of any kind."

He made to step past Thranduil.

The elf, however, gave Thorin a firm shove backwards, the first sign of physical provocation the dwarf had ever witnessed.

Thranduil's eyes were blazing.

"And yet you know what will happen if you do leave," He remarked darkly, "You will lose your home. Your people will suffer. War will descend and your kind will perish. The men of Esgaroth and Dale will perish. Women, children, innocent lives will be lost because of your selfishness. It is no longer about just the mountain, Thorin Oakenshield. A darkness is descending. An ancient darkness, one that will consume the entirety of the world we live in. You cannot abandon your people now. They need you."

"And if I do nothing, what happens then? If she is captured, and Sauron takes back what is his, what will become of her? Of all our lands? This endeavor would have been for nothing!"

Thorin landed a shove against Thranduil, his own ire growing.

"And if you leave now, we will not have an ally to protect your home before we do head to Lorien. For that is where she is going. I have seen it. I know what will befall her. At least at this stage. Your hobbit is not alone, Master Oakenshield, but if you abandon your home now, her mission to protect you and this mountain will have been for nothing. Would you really sacrifice her determination for your own selfish need to see her again?"

"My selfish—" Thorin stopped, his eyes narrowing at the elf before him, "What do you mean she is not alone? You sent someone after her?"

Thranduil's infuriated scowl vanished and was replaced with furrowed brows. He looked genuinely perplexed as he stared down at Thorin.

"You did not know? Surely you suspected…?" Thranduil shook his head when Thorin did not respond but instead cast a glance towards Balin, who looked equally confused as he stared at Thranduil.

"My, my Master Oakenshield," the elf remarked, "It is a wonder you've lasted this long as king. You are keenly unobservant to the goings-on around you."

Thorin's eyes narrowed further and a strange feeling welled in his chest, suspicion tickling his senses as indignation flared in his heart at Thranduil's crude accusations.

"Though perhaps that was her design all along?" Thranduil muttered thoughtfully, "Clever creature she is. But maybe it was the usurpers within the walls as well? Keep you distracted…" He trailed off, his gaze gaining a faraway appearance to Thorin's view.

Suspicion was ever-growing in Thorin's mind.

Mahal what had happened now?

"Who?'" He muttered, frowning at the elf king, "Who went with her?"

A loud crash sent both kings turning towards the doorway as a cacophony of voices erupted behind the door, their cries getting louder as they advanced upon the cells.

Thorin's muscles tensed, his hands reaching for his sword as he recognized the commands issued in Khuzdul.

He brought his sword up as soldiers (those loyal to Dain Ironfoot) stormed into the cells weapons drawn, enraged scowls upon their faces.

These warriors were met with three contenders. An elf and two dwarves, each with swords at the ready.

Thorin's eyes blazed with fury as he brought Orchrist up to block Brega—Dain's oldest advisor—and his powerful swing along with the axe that he wielded.

* * *

Rushing wind.

Trees blended together with the snow-covered hillside, brown and white bleeding into one mixed mess of distorted colors.

Her own surprised cry was stuck in her throat as the wind whipped past her, her descent pulling down into the small canyon.

The muffled cries of her companions, however, filled her ears before she slammed into the frigid water. And in that moment she fancied she saw Thorin's frowning face looming above her, his brows knit together in worry.

Did the dwarf never smile? Even in her mind's eye?

The shock of the cold and the force of the impact into the river sent a gasp from Lyla's lungs, and she immediately regretted the involuntary action as the icy water filled her mouth and nose making her chest ache painfully she desperately tried to preserve what little air she had left.

Whipped around by the current, the hobbit tumbled and spun trying to kick her legs, propel herself upwards but with the way her body twisted and contorted, she could not tell which way _was _up.

Mercifully, her head bobbed above water long enough for her to cough and gasp a lungful of air before she was sucked back beneath the current, her eyes stinging as she searched desperately for a way to get out of the water, away from the frigid, bubbling chaotic mass. Her heart was hammering and she felt the blood pumping in her ears as she kicked, and tried to move her arms, reaching to hold onto something.

Anything.

She gasped again and moved her arms about as her head broke the surface once more. The deafening roar of rushing water filled her ears and she bounced off a few of the larger rocks jutting above the surface of the river.

"He—help" she gasped out in a shivering whisper, her pitiable and terrified cry barely carrying to her own ears.

The current was too strong, immediately sucking her under again, much to Lyla's horror.

Panic was building in her chest and she wondered, briefly, if it would have been better to die at the hands of those hooded creatures instead of in this whirling pool of water.

Hobbits did not swim. In fact, they were rather terrified of water unless they were safely standing on shore or within the confines of a boat. But, to actively swim in the water? The notion was foolish.

And yet that is precisely where this foolish little hobbit found herself, desperately searching for a way to paddle herself to shore.

Oh Aule help her.

Spots started to dance before her eyes as she struggled to get to the surface. Her head felt light, her hands starting to go numb from the cold.

She knew what was happening and it sent tremors of fear down her spine.

Darkness began to creep at the edges of her vision and her arms felt sluggish as she willed her legs to keep moving, to push her to the surface at least one more time.

But then…

Lyla was rocketed back to awareness by a dark shadow—blurred by the rushing current—moving in front of her and a strong hold encircling her waist.

She didn't struggle. She couldn't, even if she'd wanted to.

Not yet, anyway.

With a gasp, her head reached above the waterline and she coughed, struggling to get the water from her lungs and replace it with the rich, glorious air that her body craved.

And then she fought.

Kicking her feet, Lyla connected a blow against the man's stomach, making him grunt and loosen his hold on the hobbit.

Though he did not release her.

Lyla brought her hands up and shoved against the man's chest, ignoring his protests for her to cease.

Water washed over both of them as they tumbled beneath the rapids.

The man never let go.

Pushing them towards the surface again, he grasped the hobbit's chin carefully, forcing Lyla to look at him.

"I mean you no harm, I swear it. Just hold on, master hobbit," he murmured his dark hair matted around his face, "We're almost to shore."

Something in his features stilled Lyla's fight against the man, a softness about his eyes, a warmth and kindness hidden within the blue orbs had Lyla pausing.

"I promise, master hobbit," the man continued as he kicked his legs, weaving through the water, "I am not in league with the servants of the Dark Lord. I come from friends, friends who would see your quest succeed, dear ring bearer."

At that comment, Lyla stilled completely.

No one knew about the ring.

Except…

Lyla clung to the stranger, her shaking hands digging into leather jacket the man wore beneath his cloak.

"Just don't drop me down another cliff, if you please," she finally muttered as her chin quivered from the cold.

The man chuckled darkly. "I can't make a promise that I can't guarantee I will be able to keep, master hobbit," He remarked, "There might be other times that cliff diving may be necessary."

His nonchalance at her request sent an involuntary smile to Lyla's lips.

Impertinent man.

She liked him already. Well, she liked him better than the nazgul, anyway. Even if he did throw her from a cliff.

'Best not let Thorin know that bit.'

Another wave of water washed over the both of them, icy rivulets sliding down Lyla's back. The hobbit tried to ignore the crashing of the waves and the chill that made her fingers go numb as water clogged her ears and stung her eyes, but it was proving a fruitless effort.

The man, for his part, though, never loosened his hold. Kicking his feet, he moved them through the water, nudging Lyla's head every few moments to keep her chin above the waterline.

With a grunt, the man heaved Lyla forward, onto the rocky shoreline. The hobbit coughed and panted, trying to expel the last of the water from her lungs as her body shook and shuddered.

Lyla strained her ears, her gaze shifting around, heart hammering as she searched the water, watching out of the corner of her eye, as the man dragged himself from the swirling depths as water dripped from his hair, fingers, and cloak.

Where were her friends?

"On your feet, master hobbit," The man remarked, as he too, scanned the area, "The Nazgul will not wait for you to regain your strength."

Extending his hand, he grasped Lyla's wrist and gently hoisted the hobbit to her feet, his grip tightening as Lyla's knees buckled for a moment, still too numb from her plunge in the river, to support her weight.

With one swift movement, Lyla's feet were swept upwards and she was hoisted into the man's arms, much to her embarrassment and surprise.

She noted, however, that the man was not shivering as much as she was, though the slight tremors were still there.

"Oi!" Bofur's voice was clear, if a bit strained. "Let 'er go or I'll not be so kind to yer pretty face, long shanks!"

Lyla's gaze locked onto the water once more and she watched, with a sigh of relief, as three ragged and half-drowned dwarves stumbled from the water, wearing matching scowls as they spied their hobbit and the man who held her close in his arms.

"You have a stout heart, master dwarf," the man replied unperturbed by Bofur's enraged declaration, "But that will not save you or your hobbit friend." The man caught Lyla's eyes, his blue orbs piercing into her hazel ones as he frowned lightly.

"I know what hunts you. They were once men, great kings of men. But now…now they are slaves." He remarked, "And we must find shelter and build a fire before we are spotted along the river or freeze. We must continue moving before nightfall descends."

"Now just a dirty rotten minute here," Kili exclaimed, his brows knitting together as he glared up at the man, "How do we know you're not a servant of the enemy then? We don't even know why you were headed to Erebor in the first place. How do we know we can trust you?"

"I am friends of the wizard. I come at his bidding," He caught Lyla's eye, his gaze scanning the hobbit's features.

"Aye a friend indeed!" Bofur retorted, "A friend of wizards who goes lobbing hobbits off of mountains! Aye what a decent friend ye are!"

The man raised his hand in silence towards the dwarf who was advancing menacingly towards the man who held Lyla in his arms.

The hobbit noted the thin wrist guards on the man's arms, the etchings upon them a strange, and intricate pattern.

A thought sprung in Lyla's mind.

A memory.

She knew those markings. It had been many years since she'd seen them. But, by Aule, she'd never forget those markings.

"He's a ranger," Lyla murmured quietly, her eyes searching the man's features and clothing, "I recognize the marking on his leather wrist guards. He's a ranger from the North."

The hobbit caught Bofur's gaze and then the man's surprised one.

"You have keen eyes, master hobbit," he remarked, his gaze turning thoughtful, "I did not know the Shirelings would be so adept at remembering the markings of those who are not their kin."

'Yes,' Lyla thought, a little agitatedly, having let her thoughts wander down the unpleasant path of the Fell winter.

Yes of course she recognized them. Without the rangers then she'd…

Lyla shook her head.

'Stop. Later. Deal with this later. Much more pressing matters needed attending to.'

She'd ignore his inquisitive gaze for now, Lyla decided.

After all, were they not being hunted?

"I don't think he'd save my life just to—to take it away." She remarked her gaze drifting towards the river and the rocky cliffs that loomed above them. "And if he says that Gandalf sent him…"

Her heart was beating faster as she strained to hear a familiar screeching, EXPECTING to hear a familiar screeching someone above her head. She shuddered.

"We have no choice but to trust him."

* * *

They'd sought shelter within a small cave, resting only long enough to dry and warm themselves. THe man lent Lyla his cloak to wrap in while her own sopping cloak and her jacket were stretched out in front of the fire to dry.

She bore the slight dampness of her trousers and dress shirt without complaint as she huddled near the fire, her thoughts twisting with panicked notions as she noted the way her dwarves eyed her curiously.

Her hand went to her throat where the two rings sat at the base of her neck and he idly returned to staring at the flames.

They did not know what she bore.

They shouldn't be here.

"You are hardly dressed for travel," The man remarked when they finally set out again. "I suggest you keep that cloak. It is waterproof and will give added protection against the oncoming winter storm."

Grateful for the gift, Lyla had sent a warm smile towards the man, who now led their group. Though she'd never met the man before, she knew that rangers, themselves, were a welcome advantage to any party. They were one of the few groups the hobbits trusted.

And if Gandalf trusted him, then…

She hoped she wasn't wrong to follow after this man.

'To Lorien' He'd said.

Lorien?

Why?

She needed to bypass Lorien all together and head towards Mordor.

She could not dawdle in Lorien.

And the man would not explain WHY they needed to travel there, only that it was paramount to the success of her mission.

How did he know her mission though?

What did Gandalf know?

So many questions and never enough time to search for answers!

Blast it all.

But there was nothing to be done about it all. She had to trust this ranger, trust that he would not lead them astray.

The grumbles of her dwarves hadn't lessened much, however, despite their now warm clothing.

Not that she expected them to, actually. They were stubborn creatures, dwarves. Stubborn and suspicious.

Though they didn't outright complain of the man, Fili and Kili, and especially Bofur, were wary of their companion.

Not that he'd given them any reason to doubt his integrity. He answered each question the curious group fired at him and he was very attentive to Lyla's needs, steadying her footing whenever she tripped (which happened far more frequently than she'd wanted)

"What are you called?" She'd finally ventured, her curiosity winning out over her shivering and worried notions, "I can't just call you man, now can I?"

The ranger chuckled, his stubble-marked cheeks splitting into a small, dimpled smile as he gazed down at the hobbit, "Indeed you cannot, Master Baggins. Though, I can give you many answers to your question and that may confuse you."

The man's expression turned thoughtful, his blue eyes softening marginally.

"I am known by many names. Estel in Rivendell, by my mother. I grew up knowing only that name. And now I am called Thorongil in Gondor and Rohan and your people may have come to know me as Strider for that is my name among the Rangers in the West."

Lyla frowned lightly at the man before her, "I'm afraid I am confused," She confessed, "Why do you bear so many names in so many lands? Are they significant in any way? And what might I call you?"

The man stopped momentarily his hold on Lyla's arm tightening to stop her movements as he gazed around thoughtfully.

"They are significant," he murmured softly scanning the horizon, eyes narrowing, "though not so important. Perhaps another time I may explain the names and their origins. For now, though, you may call me Estel, if it suits you."

Lyla shifted her gaze away from the man, Estel, and gazed upwards as well, a soft rushing beginning to roar in her ears.

"Alright then, master ranger," Fili remarked, "why have we stopped now?"

The dwarf prince eyed Estel suspiciously, but couldn't help but gaze upwards along the canyon walls as well, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the terrain.

"This is the Celduin River," Estel remarked, brushing a few wayward strands of his ebony hair from his brow. "These walls will gradually wane in height, as we travel further South. And that, I fear, is where our enemy will strike next. We must be prepared for an attack."

Lyla swallowed back the bile that rose, unbidden, in her throat and stared at the curve of the river, ignoring the way her companions' faces turned towards her. She could feel the heat rising on her neck, pricking her ears.

"Those black riders were looking for something," Fili remarked, "Or someone, I wager. And whatever it is they seek, they suspect that one of us has it."

A hand rested on her shoulder.

"Lyla?"

The blonde dwarf peered into Lyla's eyes, his gaze thoughtful and assessing as he searched her face.

"What is goin' on, Lass?" Bofur murmured softly stepping closer to the hobbit, "What have ye gotten yerself into?"

Lyla opened her mouth to speak, to reassure them that she was fine, that everything was fine and that she didn't need them there (that she didn't want them hurt, truthfully).

Then her mouth snapped shut, her words dying in her throat as her ears twitched.

She could hear…something.

A whisper on the wind.

"Gû kîbum kelkum-ishi…"

The air seemed to go colder. A shiver ran down her spine as she listened, gazing around agitatedly, her fingers twitching.

"burzum-ishi. Akha - gûm-ishi ashi gurum. Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul."

Lyla could feel her veins turn cold as a fiery darts of pain started to prickle up her arm.

She let out a small gasp, her eyes beginning to water as she clutched her arm.

"Mistress Boggins?"

Kili's voice sounded muffled, distant almost as she gazed around, her eyes darting around wildly, searching for a hooded figure.

He had to be nearby.

"Gû kîbum kelkum-ishi burzum-ishi. Akha - gûm-ishi ashi gurum. Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul."

"Master Baggins."

She blinked a few times as Estel's face came into focus, his hands on her shoulders, shaking her lightly.

"Come, we must move. You have to ignore it for now. We must get ahead of them."

He shot a look towards the three dwarves who were crowded around the hobbit.

"We must move. Now."

Her ears sent a sharp pain through her head as a loud screeching filled the air.

"MOVE."

Lyla was guided along by Estel, whose strides were long and powerful. Fili and Kili flanked her on either side, their weapons drawn, Bofur bringing up the rear as they splashed through the muddied banks of the river.

She spied a dark shadow dart over head.

Another loud screech that made her wince

Estel's grip tightened further as he all but dragged the hobbit forward.

Lyla noted the way the canyon slowly sloped downward, widening marginally. The expanse of sky widened, the river grew as they edged ever closer towards open land.

Another shadow.

"Don't llet them see the fear in your eyes," Estel commanded, his voice gruff, a firm glare in place as he gazed down at the hobbit. "Do not give them the satisfaction of it."

"There's two more ahead!" Kili shouted, drawing his bow.

"That makes more than five," Fili remarked, "They've got us outnumbered."

"There are nine of them," Estel admonished, "We may see five, but there are nine for certain."

Nine.

The thought rang oddly in Lyla's mind and she struggled to understand why that number was important.

"Just move forward," the man commanded, his own sword drawn, "Don't stop. No matter what, don't stop."

Estel tugged Lyla forward, while keeping her surrounded by her friends as he drew his sword, his knuckles white against the hilt of the blade.

Lyla could see the sharp descent of the rock faces overhead and her heart plummeted.

She spied more movement above and ahead of them.

A loud screeching cry echoed through the air as they broke into the open, three wraiths dropping upon them, weapons drawn as they lunged towards the hobbit and her guard.

Lyla was yanked swiftly forward and shoved downward, tumbled underneath the oncoming blow of one wraith as Estel stepped over her, his sword coming up to meet the nazgul's blade with his own.

"Move! And stay down." He admonished through gritted teeth as his arms strained against the pressure from the nazgul's forceful stance and impressive strength.

Lyla scuttled from beneath the battle between man and demon and ducked as another blow came towards her, this one blocked by Bofur's mattock connecting with the wraith's arm.

A loud shriek filled the air and Lyla gave a startled, pained cry as her left arm ignited in pain.

She rolled again as horse hooves clamored around her, wraiths reaching for her.

An arrow whizzed through the air, bouncing off the sword of a third nazgul, drawing its attention away from the hobbit and towards the archer.

Towards Kili.

"Run!" He hollered towards Lyla, looking very much like his uncle in that moment, eyes blazing, enraged scowl on his face. "Make towards the river, towards the outer banks!"

He notched another arrow in his bow and fired another shot towards the nazgul nearest Lyla.

The hobbit pivoted and darted forward, away from the ensuing battle. She spied Fili tackling two wraiths, his knives whizzing through the air, slicing at black fabric as he encouraged the wraiths to advance upon him. All the while, Bofur and Kili occupied the attention of two more. Estel grappled with a fifth while the horses the wraiths had abandoned cried out and stomped their feet agitatedly.

She tried to dodge their hoof beats, trying to get away, while praying that her friends would be alright and feeling very much a coward as she retreated from the battle.

Aule she wished she had her sword.

'What good would it do?' the familiar, dark voice hummed in her ear, 'you are incapable of surviving, even should a weapon be in your hands. You are clumsy with a sword and easily spotted by the enemy. There is no way you could save your friends.'

Lyla skidded to a halt, her heart dropping to her toes as two more wraiths, atop their dark steeds slowly cantered forward.

"Gû kîbum kelkum-ishi burzum-ishi. Akha - gûm-ishi ashi gurum. Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul."

'Give up now, little Shireling,' The voice crooned in her ear as she stepped backwards, her feet sinking into the cool water of the Celduin. 'Give up now. It is a lost cause. A fool's errand.'

Her arm tingled as the whisper's continued.

Two more wraiths slowly maneuvered down the sloping hills and towards the riverbank, their grips tight around their reigns, metal gauntlets gleaming in the cold afternoon light.

With a swift movement, the wraith at the head of the small group in front of her, dismounted from his horse and drew a small, grooved blade that gleamed darkly in the sunlight. With slow, deliberate steps, he advanced towards the hobbit, arm outstretched, reaching towards her, blade poised at her chest.

Instinctively, Lyla's hand went towards her neck as she clasped the two rings tightly in her palm.

'Put it on,' the voice hummed, 'Just put it on. Disappear from this. Escape from it all.'

The hobbit couldn't deny the temptation that tickled at her fingers as the cool metal warmed in her palm. She found her hand moving of its own volition.

But an icy dread had settled in her belly and she couldn't deny the fear that if she put the ring on that something…unpleasant would occur.

With a frown, Lyla released the rings about her neck and took another step backwards , stepping further into the water. She heard a distinct hiss come from beneath the nazgul's hood as it charged towards her, the other three wraiths following closely behind.

Oh how she wanted her sword!

She settled, though, for another tactic to bypass the oncoming blow from the wraith's blade.

She barreled into the creature's chest, passing beneath the swipe the nazgul had intended for her and, propelling herself, instead, into the hard chest of the wraith's form, knocking the creature slightly off balance.

The force of the connection, though, left the hobbit's head spinning. She was certain she'd connected, not with flesh and bone, but something akin to metal or rock.

Her head throbbed painfully in retaliation to her maneuver and she hissed and ducked beneath the wraith's arm, reaching for the blade that it had dropped.

The creature screeched, its voice thundering in Lyla's ears as she thrust the blade upward, towards the nazgul's leg.

The blade easily pierced the flesh of the wraith's leg, sending the creature hissing.

But then the blade dissolved, turning to dust in Lyla's hand much to the hobbit's surprise.

So much for a weapon.

Her eyes widened before she felt the stinging blow of a hit against her cheek, sending her skidding across the bank, landing with a loud splash in the river.

Spots danced before her eyes as the wraiths advanced on her and she scrambled to regain her footing, her hands wrapping around a large, smooth stone as she stumbled to her feet.

She launched the stone at the nazgul, knowing full well that her attempts would be for naught, but unwilling was she to simply stand by and allow them to take the ring from her.

She wouldn't.

"Gû kîbum kelkum-ishi burzum-ishi. Akha - gûm-ishi ashi gurum. Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul."

Lyla stepped further into the water the rushing current twisting around her knees, turning her feet numb.

The all too familiar pain lanced her arm and she glared towards her oncoming attackers as she reached for another stone.

"If you want me," she hissed, "Come and claim me then."

Tossing the stone towards the leader of the wraiths that were approaching her, Lyla took another step backwards.

Perhaps she'd have to brave the water again.

"Nîn o Emryn Fuin

lasto beth daer;

Rimmo nîn Celduin

dan in Ulaer!"

A low rumbling began to grow beneath Lyla's feet and she noted the way the water started to ripple around her, rising past her knees.

She cast a wary glance around, searching for the source of the voice, but could not spot the face among the rocks.

She didn't recognize that voice.

The nazgul, too, had stopped their movements casting their glances around, searching.

"Lyla!" Fili's cry was urgent, as he thrust a nazgul backwards, his knife being knocked from his hand, "You need to move away from there!"

"Onto the rock Master hobbit!" Estel cried, as he kicked the wraith he fought in the stomach, "Climb! Hurry!"

Lyla twisted, spying a large boulder standing as a sentinel in the rapidly rising river, it's tall grey pointed peak beckoning the hobbit towards it.

Without a second thought, Lyla splashed through the water reaching for the stone as he heard the unmistakable footfalls of the nazgul coming after her once more.

But then…

"Nîn o Emryn Fuin

lasto beth daer;

Rimmo nîn Celduin

dan in Ulaer!"

"Take cover!" Estel cried and Lyla stared with wide eyes as her companions abandoned their fights, grasping whatever they could get their hands upon, swords and daggers left at the wayside as they sought to hold onto the strong, jagged rocks that lined the shore of the river.

She caught Bofur and Fili's panicked glances towards her before they buried their heads agasint their arms.

The roaring of water grew startlingly louder as the rumbling of the earth increased. She noted the way the nazgul had stopped, clearly confused by the ensuing events.

Lyla turned towards the mouth of the canyon of the Celduin river as the roar of rushing water grew louder.

A terrified squeak escaped the hobbit's mouth, her own eyes clamping shut in similar fashion to her friends, as she buried her head against the rock, taking a large mouthful of air and tightening her grip upon the stone that she clung to, praying that she would not lose hold.

By Eru, how she hated water.

For a second time that day, water encased the hobbit. This time, though, it descended upon her, beating against her back like the hooves of the horses. she could have sworn the waves of the rushing current looked like. She held fast, listening to the pained screeches and cries of the nazgul and their horses as the water encased them, rushing them (she hoped) far away from her and her companions.

* * *

High above the clouds, the soft flapping of wings whispered through the air.

The grey wizard clung to the golden feathers, ignoring the way his temple stung and trying to block the memories of betrayal still fresh in his mind.

His eyes locked with the growing image of a snow capped mountain in the distance and he silently willed his escort to hasten his flight.

There was much to be done and so little time to do it.


End file.
